


Push Into The Sky

by thisonegoes



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Developing Relationship, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Past Zayn Malik/Liam Payne, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-16
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-15 21:24:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 47,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1319731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisonegoes/pseuds/thisonegoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is how it starts. It begins with a lie, so pay attention. Some people lie to forget the past, and some lie to forget the present. You can't always judge them for it. Because anyone who lies on a daily basis, the people who can do it without batting an eye, without letting it ruin them, those are the people who need it the most. They don't do it to hurt anyone, or even to hurt themselves. They just do it because they have to.</p><p>Pretend boyfriends AU where Harry and Zayn help each other out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

This is how it starts. It begins with a lie, so pay attention.  
  
Above all else, remember to pay attention. Because you must remember: some people lie to forget the past, and some lie to forget the present. You can't always judge them for it. Because anyone who lies on a daily basis, the people who can do it without batting an eye, without letting it ruin them or blacken their hearts, those are the people who need it the most. They don't do it to hurt anyone, or even to hurt themselves. They just do it because they have to.  
  
The problem is that when you lie so much you can't remember the truth, can't remember who you are, you forget what it feels like to live life without the lies. You forget how to be honest at even the most basic level. You'll tell anyone the sky is green, until you're blue in the face, convince them until even _you're_ sure of it, just out of pure habit.  
  
When something begins with a lie, when the very foundation of what something is turns out to be a lie, it's fractured before it even begins. That doesn't mean it's broken, or irreparable. It doesn't even mean it won't be beautiful. But it's not whole and it never will be, until you address it and find the truth in it.  
  
They start with a lie.  
  
So be smarter than Harry and Zayn. Pay attention.

  
  
***

  
Harry can't decide if he wants to peruse the new arrivals first, or head straight to the left of the registers, towards the fiction section to haphazardly look at book titles and find one that looks interesting. It's either go with the flow of the bookstore and work his way section by section, or just go to the new arrivals like everyone else and be force-fed the newest and best, the shit everyone in class will be pretentiously talking about, the sure-to-be Times bestsellers. Communication majors always like to think they're way more intellectual than they actually are, which Harry would hate on, except here he is in a fucking bookstore, trying to find books to pretentiously talk about himself, so. Pot meet kettle, whatever.  
  
Harry can be indecisive, so he bounces from foot to foot, antsy, not knowing which way to go. It's as he's deciding, feeling the pull within his brain over which direction to head, left or right, when he sees him.  
  
The most beautiful creature Harry has ever seen is standing in front of him, head bent over a book in the biography section, near the new arrivals. That pretty much takes away the need for a decision, as Harry swiftly walks towards him. He pretends to look over the shelves, even picks up a random book to pretend to read the back of, so he can look at the guy to his right.  
  
He has black hair, the most gorgeous skin Harry's ever seen, skin that reminds him of the homemade caramel his mom makes. He wonders if it tastes just as sweet, if touching his arm would make his fingers sticky. He's a tad shorter than Harry, thin, but solid. Harry sees a small bird tattoo on his hand, peaking out from under his jacket, as he turns a page and glances up. He sees Harry looking at him and he seems slightly startled.  
  
Harry's never been very shy, so he sends him a warm smile, before glancing back to the book in his hand. He would stare at this guy all day if he could, but he can't be weird about it. He flips a few pages before looking back up, just as the guy also glances back at him, the stranger's cheeks reddening. Harry wants to ask his name so badly, he feels like the question is about to burst out of him.  
  
He puts the book back on the shelf, as he slides closer to the guy, as the guy inches closer to him. Harry's giddy now, can feel the pull between them. They're about to speak, he knows it. He doesn't know who's going to pluck up the courage first, but it's about to happen. He feels hot.  
  
The guy looks up at him again, a smile on his lips, and Harry knows: this beautiful stranger is going to talk to him first.

Harry's about to open his mouth, to prepare his _hello_ right back, when the guy suddenly gets a stricken look on his face. His eyes are zeroed in on something over Harry's shoulder, something Harry can't see with his back towards the front of the book store. The guy looks panicked, like he's seeing a ghost, or an axe murderer, or some combination of both. Harry's about to glance back, to see if the place is about to be robbed or something, but before he can, the stranger frantically looks him in the eye and shakes his head.  
  
Now Harry's just confused, as his face falls. Something is wrong and whatever it is, it's made this hot stranger start to breathe heavier, drop the book he was holding. He fumbles around, bends to pick it up. Harry doesn't know if the guy is panicking, if he's some straight kid freaking out over a dude smiling at him, so he's just about to give up and walk away, when the guy is suddenly in his space, right next to him. Harry can smell his cologne, the cigarette he probably had before coming in here, the coffee on his breath.  
  
"Please don't leave," the guy says, as his arm touches Harry, both of them facing the biography section now. Harry still hasn't looked over his shoulder, still doesn't know what's happening.  
  
"Uh," Harry starts, not knowing what to say, pulling at the strap to his bag over his shoulder.  
  
"I'm Zayn. Can I ask you for a huge favor? Please?" he begs in a whisper, looking at Harry out of the corner of his eye, as if he's about to cry.  
  
Harry doesn't even answer, doesn't have the chance to, when someone behind them speaks.  
  
"Zayn?"  
  
The voice is over their shoulders, accompanied by footsteps, a man getting closer. And before Harry can react or ask this Zayn person what's happening, he feels Zayn swiftly slip his hand into his, linking their fingers. Harry's caught off guard, holding hands with a complete stranger. He also vaguely thinks they fit somehow, that their hands, while foreign to each other, actually make sense when wrapped together. Zayn doesn't even look at Harry's face, he just holds his hand tighter, and turns both of their bodies towards the front of the store, towards the voice.  
  
"Liam!" Zayn says with a grin, face suddenly bright and open. He looks the exact opposite of what he was expressing literally seconds before. He looks excited, happy, on top of the world.  
  
"I thought that was you," the guy says, hands in his pockets, eyeing the two of them. Harry has to admit, he's hot. He's well built and Harry is pretty certain this guy could lay him the fuck out if he had to. But he doesn't look warm, or friendly.

Harry feels Zayn tensing next to him, even with the smile on his face telling the world otherwise.  
  
"Yeah, just looking at books today, you know," Zayn says, still smiling. Harry stands there like a fucking idiot, holding a stranger's hand. He still feels overheated.  
  
"So who's this then?" Liam says, eyes traveling to their hands, and then up to Harry's face. "I didn't realize you were… with anyone."  
  
Zayn squeezes Harry's hand tightly, as his smile falters for a fraction of a second, as he looks up into Harry's eyes. Harry knows he's silently pleading, asking him for help.  
  
Harry almost laughs then, at how perfect the situation is. Of all the people in this bookstore, the fact that Zayn chose Harry to hold hands with, is a fucking miracle. Zayn doesn't know it yet, but Harry Styles is the best fucking liar on the planet.  
  
The fire is lit, Harry knows then. The fire underneath him is lit and he's ready to go. So he looks at Zayn and smiles that smile, the smile that's gotten him out of every traffic ticket he's ever had, the smile he's used to get out of every random bedroom he's ever found himself in. He nudges Zayn with his hip playfully, before turning back to Liam.  
  
"Hey man, I'm Harry," he says, still smiling, reaching out to shake his hand, before getting a fierce look in his eye. "And yeah, he is with someone."  
  
"Oh," Liam says, not even pretending to hide his surprise. "That's really - good. Good for you, Zayn."  
  
"Yeah, thanks," Zayn says back, nodding, grasping Harry tighter. He's still asking for help, Harry can tell.  
  
"So how did the two of you meet? How long have you been together?" Liam asks, now with a slight smile, still looking at them like he can't believe it, still wanting answers. Harry's a good liar, the best liar, and he knows when people _think_ he's lying, when they're trying to trap him, make him stumble his words, force him to let up and tell the truth. He knows when he has to make it extra air-tight. So he's not worried. He can do this in his fucking sleep.  
  
"We met at a party, actually, a few weeks back. Not far from campus. My friend had a class with Zayn and invited him. In fact, we met in the kitchen, right as this one tried to take beer from my hiding place. I caught him just in time though, the little sneak," Harry says, with that glint in his eye that says _I dare you to ask more questions, try me._ He looks to Zayn then and pouts a little, nudging Zayn again, to make him smile bigger. Zayn's grateful, so he smiles and bites his lip.  
  
"Oh, that's… really great," Liam says, shuffling his feet now. Harry's ruffled him. The lie came out perfectly. He thinks they're in the clear.  
  
"Yeah, so. We should probably -" Zayn says awkwardly, pointing towards the back of the bookstore, trying to get away.  
  
"Of course, you need to go. You two look so cozy together, I shouldn't keep you," Liam says, a smile creeping back onto his face. He's about to turn away, when he drops the bomb. "Oh Zayn, I almost forgot. I was supposed to invite you to Ruth's engagement party tomorrow night, but I didn't have your new number. I know we're not like, together anymore, and it might seem weird… But you know my family loves you. She'd love to see you."  
  
Harry narrows his eyes at Liam. So they're exes, and this guy is inviting Zayn to a family function _while_ he's holding hands with someone else. How charming.  
  
"Uh, well -" Zayn starts to say, a quick look of panic on his face. Because of the smile he's held so far, the ease with which he's been standing, Harry thought he'd met another grade-A liar. But now he's nervous for Zayn, afraid he'll falter. He's about to step in, when Liam does first.  
  
"I mean, you don't have to or anything. But you know my mom would love to see you. And you can bring Harry here, if you'd like, since you seem so happy," he says, smiling sweetly at Harry.  
  
Harry fucking hates this guy already. He can't let him win, let him have the upper hand. He feels protective of Zayn now.  
  
"Oh that's nice of you," Harry replies, smiling back, as he pulls Zayn closer, now wrapping his arm around Zayn's waist, crowding as close to him as humanly possible. "You wanna go, babe? We can go if you want."  
  
Zayn looks into his eyes, grateful again, moving his hands up to Harry's hips. He slaps on a smile, and Harry knows for sure now: Zayn's a great fucking liar too. He might even be as good as Harry.  
  
"Yeah we can go," he says, moving his hand up and down Harry's side, turning to Liam. "Tell Ruth we'd love to come, thank you."  
  
Liam finally seems too uncomfortable, seeing them standing so close, watching them look at each other like they're about to go fuck in the back room or something. He clearly thought they'd say no, or would make it awkward, or Harry would get mad at the situation and leave. He looks nervous. Harry savors the energy around them, knowing they won. He wants to take a shower in it, lather in it, eat it, fuck it, it feels so good.  
  
"Okay, so… you know where the house is. Come by at like seven," Liam says, slowly starting to back away. "I'll see you tomorrow."  
  
He gives a weak wave before finally exiting the book store. Zayn lets out a huge breath and steps away from Harry. He sounds like he just ran a marathon. Harry still feels the high of a good lie, the high of winning, of besting someone when they don't even know it. He's always loved that feeling. So he smiles at Zayn.  
  
"So where's his house? Is it far from campus?" he asks nonchalantly, putting his hands on his hips.  
  
"Wait, what?" Zayn says, finally regulating his breathing, turning to look at Harry with wide eyes.  
  
"And what does one wear to an engagement party, anyways? I don't think I've ever been to one."  
  
"Harry, seriously. Thank you for doing that, for letting me totally suck you into that shit show. But you don't _actually_ have to go to his house with me, I'll just lie and say we couldn't make it, if we ever run into each other again. You don't even know me," he says in a low voice, cheeks reddening.  
  
"Fuck that guy, you can't let him make you feel like shit. And I know you now," Harry says with a smile. "It's nice to meet you, Zayn."  
  
Zayn finally smiles back. "You too, Harry."  
  
They stare at each other, both smiling like idiots.  
  
"So are you picking me up before the party or what?"  
  
"Are you sure? Because honestly, Liam is… Liam. He's my ex boyfriend, and it was messy, and he makes me feel crazy," Zayn says, tugging at his hair. "I hate that he almost saw me looking like a fucking loser. But it's not fair to drag you into it."  
  
"Nah, it's cool. I don't mind. He seems like a prick. So if you need someone to pretend to be your boyfriend, I can be whatever. I'll be the opposite of him," Harry says, moving closer to Zayn now. He won't fully admit it, but he'd love to throw a few more awkward moments at that Liam guy, even if they're fake. He'd love to win again.  
  
"Really? You don't mind helping me out?" Zayn asks hopefully, moving closer to Harry. He whispers, "I really would love to shove it in his fucking face, show him I'm fine, better even, without him."  
  
"Then let's show him."  
  
"Okay," Zayn says with a smile, looking at his feet. "Thanks."  
  
They exchange numbers and addresses, right there in the bookstore, standing close. Zayn says he'll pick Harry up the next day at 6:30, before thanking him about twelve more times for helping him.  
  
Harry's actually excited for the party, if he's honest. He's taken acting classes before, and he's a communication major. He could sell water to a fish, could lie his way out of a stressful situation with his eyes closed. He also thinks, as he walks back towards his apartment twenty minutes later, down the streets near USC, that regardless of the circumstances, he was always planning on talking to Zayn in that bookstore anyways.  
  
So if it happened with a lie, no harm, no foul.

  
  
***

  
Harry puts the finishing touches on his outfit at 6:15 the next night. He's wearing black skinny jeans and a black button up, with a slick black suit jacket. He tugs at the sleeves, looking at himself in the mirror by his bed, pretty happy with the results. Harry knows he's always looked good in all black. It takes his sweet face, the dimples, the curls around his ears, and suddenly makes him look darker, deeper even. He knows when he wears all black, he could smile the right way and get whatever he wanted. In fact, he has, many times.  
  
Harry's lived in LA his entire life, and he knows how to work a room, how to use his face to his advantage. He's been charming his way into Hollywood clubs since he was seventeen. The first time he smoked a cigarette was on a club patio, mere feet from Lindsay Lohan, which was a fucking trip. He told people about that for weeks afterward, telling them about how he got Lindsay's number and partied with her at the Chateau for hours.  
  
No one had to know she barely glanced his way. She actually looked straight through him, if he's being honest with himself. But Harry Styles has never let that stop him, or his epic stories, before. He blew a guy in the bathroom of Club Villa a few years ago, but the way he told the story to his friends afterwards, you would've thought he blew the fucking President, gotten his number, _and_ was moving into the White House.  
  
Because see, Harry's a great fucking liar. And it makes him feel good to tell a delicious lie and get away with it.  
  
Once he's in Zayn's car twenty minutes later, he tugs at his sleeves again, now getting slightly nervous. He knows he can do this, can be whatever Zayn needs him to be for a room full of people. But Zayn makes him antsy, he knows it already. Zayn is gorgeous and nice, the type of guy who reads biographies in bookstores, when guys like Harry are only there to impress people.  
  
"So thank you, again. For doing this," Zayn says, one hand on the wheel, the other smoothing the stubble on his chin.  
  
"It's not a problem. I mean, I figured we'd do something a little different for our first date, but whatever. Here we are," he says with a smile, staring at Zayn's hand moving across his jaw and cheekbone. Harry takes in the tattoos on his forearms, the sleeves of the white button up he's wearing pushed up to his elbows. He looks fucking good.  
  
Zayn huffs out a small, nervous laugh. Harry can't help but smile, knowing he makes Zayn nervous too. It's comforting.  
  
"So tell me what the deal is, before we get there. I need your back story," Harry says, businesslike.  
  
"Well like, we dated for a long time. And he broke up with me like six months ago, which fucking sucked," Zayn says, turning left, looking away from Harry. Harry can feel his palms sweating slightly, at the mention of them dating for a long time and then being broken up with. The feeling _does_ suck. It really fucking sucks, it breaks you. He knows that feeling all too well. He shakes his head, breezing past it, forcing himself to focus.  
  
"No, come on. I need to know who this fucker is, what he's like. If you want to win, if you want to have the upper hand, I need to do everything the opposite. I need to be better than he was to you. So tell me, give me info. I'll make it useful," Harry says, turning towards him.  
  
Zayn frowns slightly, both hands on the wheel now, knuckles white.  
  
"If I want to win? Okay. Okay, that makes sense," he says, setting his face fiercely. "Liam is… Liam. We were together for two years in high school, and then the last two years here in college. We were supposed to move in together, actually. But he's a fucking dick. He would boss me around, but then complain that I didn't make decisions. He'd want me to surprise him, and then hate whatever I did. He wanted me to be forceful with him, take charge, and then get pissed when I'd try to tease him. He didn't remember anything I told him, anything I liked. He never listened. He forgot my birthday one year."  
  
Harry feels his hands shake slightly, anger coursing through him. He doesn't even know who the fuck Zayn is, or why he feels so angry for him, but he's angry. He can't wait to make Liam squirm.  
  
"When is your birthday?"  
  
"January 12th."  
  
"Noted."  
  
"Yeah, so. He probably hates you, hates that I moved on so quickly. He probably thought I'd be a mess over him for years. Honestly, so did I… But the fact he even saw you with me, probably made him mad," Zayn smiles to himself, turning the car again.  
  
"Tell me more, tell me things he forgot. Tell me what you like, tell me who you are," Harry says quickly, grabbing the armrest, as Zayn smiles again. Harry stares at him intently.  
  
"Okay, well. Um. I like action movies, but I also like romantic movies, I guess. I draw, I like to paint. I smoke, which he hates, but I can't fucking help it. I hate working out, especially running. It's the worst. I hate whiskey because it reminds me of my grandpa, who became a dick whenever he drank it. My parents are fucking awesome. I have three sisters. I love sleeping in late. I take long showers. I'm studying to be a teacher. I'm from the valley, from Sherman Oaks, and I love it, so don't make fun of it in front of me. Liam hates the valley, he thinks it's lame. Uh, that's all I can think of," Zayn says, as they pull up in a neighborhood and park in front of a massive house.  
  
"I got it, that's good," Harry says, nodding. In addition to being a great liar, Harry also has a perfect memory. He's got this.  
  
Zayn's smile gets smaller. Harry doesn't know if he's nervous, if he's rethinking this whole pretending thing, or if he's not confident in Harry remembering anything he's even said. Regardless, no matter what's making his face fall, Harry hates it.  
  
"You ready? Are you sure this is okay? I don't even know anything about _you_ , fuck," Zayn says in a rush, finally looking at him, brow furrowed.  
  
"Zayn, we got this. Let me do the talking, if it helps. I know we don't know each other or anything, but I want to help you. Fuck this guy, right?" Harry says, grabbing Zayn's hand, squeezing his fingers.  
  
"Thanks. Fuck him," Zayn says back, smiling, squeezing Harry's hand in return.

  
  
***

  
They stand on the front porch of the massive lit up house in Beverly Hills, the sounds of a party coming through the windows. Harry realized as they got out of the car that they had hired a valet service for this party, and it's so fucking pretentious, he can't wait to spew lies all over it.  
  
He also realized, as they walked towards the house, what he needs to be tonight.

Because Harry's perceptive. Zayn is tough, sure of himself, cool as all hell. But he needs someone to look after him, someone who cares about what he says, what he thinks, someone who wants him with every ounce of their being, like a fucking crackhead needing a hit. Clearly this Liam guy was too self involved. They were together for too long. Liam got too wrapped up in who they were supposed to be together, to actually love and appreciate the person Zayn is. Harry has to be attentive, caring, but not too over the top. This is Zayn's world, Zayn's the boss, but he needs to be there and be present. He knows Liam's already jealous. He just has to let it happen, let who he is at his core, the kid with the curls and the smile, to come through. He can do this.  
  
Zayn rings the doorbell and takes a deep breath. Harry grabs his right hand and links their fingers together, right as Liam opens the door in a crisp black suit.  
  
"Zayn, you came!" he says with a laugh, letting them into the house.  
  
"Said I would, right?" Zayn says with a big smile, holding his hand tighter, gesturing to him. "And you remember Harry from yesterday."  
  
"Harry, of course. I'm glad you both could come," Liam says politely, leading them into the dining room.  
  
Just then a few squeals come from the kitchen, as three women rush into the dining room and grab at Zayn, hugging him tightly. Harry just lets go of his hand and gets his arm back, sure that it was almost ripped off by various body parts flying at Zayn. Liam's mother, most likely, kisses his cheeks about four times each, while two other women tug on his hands, asking a million questions, one of them showing Zayn the ring on her finger. They begin pulling him into the kitchen. Harry watches with a smile on his face, aware that Liam is watching him.  
  
"My mom and sisters," he says dumbly, as he stands there next to Harry, a drink in his hand.  
  
"I thought so," Harry smiles, turning to him.  
  
"I don't know what Zayn's told you about us, but we were together for a long time. He was always really close with my family. They miss him," he says, like the conversation isn't weird at all.  
  
"He told me. He was actually really excited to come tonight, to see them."  
  
"Good."  
  
Liam follows them into the kitchen, moves around various people chatting and drinking, so Harry follows. Once there, he sees Zayn surrounded by the three women, one trying to push a plate of food into his hands, as he politely declines and smiles.  
  
"Is this him?" the oldest girl says, smiling at Harry.  
  
"Yep, this is Harry," Zayn says nodding at him, as Harry makes his way over and crowds next to him, grabbing his hand. He shakes the hands of the three women, Karen, and her daughters Ruth and Nicola, still aware that Liam is watching from the other side of the kitchen, near the alcohol.  
  
"Oh I'm so glad you have someone, Zayn. Liam's an absolute idiot, as you well know. So good for you, for finding someone. You're very lucky, Zayn. He's so handsome!" Liam's mom says, holding his arm, smiling at Harry.  
  
"No, ma'am. I'm the lucky one," Harry says, before leaning in and sweetly kissing Zayn's cheek, lingering for a second.  
  
The three of them absolutely die at that, hugging the both of them. Harry distinctly sees Nicola look over at Liam with a look of disgust. He can't help but smile at that.  
  
Liam finally comes over, trying to cut in.  
  
"Can I get you a drink, Zayn? Harry? We have it all."  
  
"I can get it, thank you. No need to worry about us," Harry says, as the three Payne women look at them. "I'll get you a drink, babe."  
  
"Anything but -"  
  
"Anything but whiskey, I know, babe," he says, dramatically rolling his eyes towards the ladies, kissing him on the cheek again.  
  
Harry smiles again, as he walks over to the bar area, pouring himself some wine into one glass, and a vodka soda into the other. He hopes Zayn likes vodka. Liam comes to stand next to him, eyes in slits, staring daggers at him.  
  
"He doesn't like wine," Liam says in a low voice, as Harry grabs the two drinks.  
  
"I know, the wine's for me," Harry says sweetly, looking Liam in the eye. "I know what he likes. Thank you, though."  
  
Harry brings Zayn the drink, which Zayn thanks him for, grabbing his hand again. Ruth shows them her engagement ring some more, telling Zayn all about the proposal. Her fiance comes over and she introduces them. He seems like a nice guy, Harry can tell. People keep coming up to talk to Ruth and Nicola, so Harry and Zayn try to excuse themselves.  
  
They head into the living room to where music is playing, but Karen comes with them, holding Zayn's arm.  
  
"So tell me how you two met," she says, pulling them towards the wall near the staircase. Harry can still see Liam in his peripheral vision, still watching them, listening to them talking, eyes still in slits. He's had more than a few drinks by this point, and Harry fucking loves how uncomfortable he is.  
  
"Well," Zayn starts, smiling at Harry.  
  
"We met at a party, actually, a few weeks back. Not far from campus. My friend had a class with Zayn and invited him. In fact, we met in the kitchen, right as this one tried to take beer from my hiding place. I caught him just in time though, the little sneak," Harry says, verbatim to what he told Liam just yesterday. Liam takes a drink to their left, trying to move closer.  
  
"I'm so glad you found someone, Zayn. Really," she says, holding his arm tightly. "Liam's missing out. Don't you let him go, Harry. He's one of the good ones."  
  
"I won't," Harry says quietly, resting his forehead against the side of Zayn's head for a moment.  
  
"He's a good one too, Karen. Swear," Zayn says, kissing Harry on the cheek this time.  
  
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Liam leave the room.  
  
Harry fucking loves winning.  
  
Karen excuses herself, to go back in the kitchen and check on the food, to see if anyone around needs more drinks. Liam's dad quickly says hello to Zayn and Harry, as he follows Karen around, greeting more people. Technically since they're alone now, and Liam's not around, Harry could drop Zayn's hand, or move away from him slightly, but he doesn't. He doesn't feel like it.  
  
"Thank you again, for being here," Zayn whispers into the air between them.  
  
"Of course, Zayn. It's actually been kind of fun," he whispers back, smiling.  
  
Zayn laughs, loudly, throws his head back even.  
  
"He's pissed, right? He seems pissed," Zayn says, still laughing, cheeks pink from the alcohol.  
  
"He's fucking furious," Harry says laughing back.  
  
They go to the kitchen and have another drink each, standing close as various people move around them. The music gets a little louder, a few of Ruth's friends start dancing into the other room. Zayn whispers to Harry that he hates dancing, which makes Harry laugh because he loves to dance, but he promises Zayn he won't make him do it, especially not here. They walk back in holding hands.  
  
He's not sure how it even happens, but suddenly they're standing in the living room again, hugging. Zayn has his head tucked into Harry's chest, his arms around Harry's waist, and Harry can't help but smell Zayn's hair. He tightens his arms around Zayn, holding him close. From where he's standing he can see the main foyer, by the front door. Liam's standing there, another drink in his hand, watching them. Nicola comes to stand near him and she whispers something angrily into his ear.  
  
Harry can't help himself, can't help but win again, so he pulls back, just as Zayn does. He smiles at him and moves in.  
  
Their first kiss is perfect, there in the Payne living room, with people dancing around them to a Madonna song. He holds Zayn's face with one hand, as he slips his tongue into his mouth. He wants it to be good, not too dirty in front of strangers, but good enough that Zayn never fucking forgets it. He wouldn't mind if Liam never forgot it either.  
  
Zayn's hand tightens in his, as he kisses back. Harry sighs into his mouth quietly, as people keep dancing around them. When Harry pulls back, he's delighted to see Liam and Nicola still watching them. So he gives Zayn one last peck before pulling away.  
  
"You know," he whispers, still close and in Zayn's space. "I like long showers. And I sleep like a corpse. And I hate working out, too."  
  
"Noted," Zayn whispers back, smiling.

  
  
***

  
It's as they're getting ready to leave, telling the Payne women goodbye for about the third time, when Harry's phone rings. He slips it out of his pocket and sees it's his mom calling. He forgot to call her today, which is unlike him because he calls her every day, and he doesn't want her to worry. So Harry slides his finger across the screen to accept the call, moving away from Zayn, towards the empty side hallway.  
  
"Hey mom, can I call you tomorrow?" he whispers.  
  
"Sure baby, just wanted to hear your voice. I haven't talked to you today," Anne says, yawning. She must be getting ready for bed.  
  
"Sorry, I forgot to call. Sorry," he says, starting to make his way back towards the foyer.  
  
Just then Liam walks out of a door in the hall, heading straight for him, swaying slightly.  
  
"Where are you? It's loud," Anne says into his ear.  
  
Harry's in a pickle now. He can't lie to his mom, ever. And he especially can't lie about where he is with Liam so close.  
  
"I'm at an engagement party, I'll call you tomorrow," he rushes out, trying to hang up.  
  
"Oh fun! Whose party? Where?"  
  
"Mom, I'm with Zayn at a family friend's place, I have to _go_ ," he says, as Liam stands next to him, crossing his arms.  
  
"Zayn?" she questions.  
  
Liam stares at him, as Zayn walks towards them, to grab his hand.  
  
"You ready, babe? It's getting late," Zayn says close to his face, trying to ignore Liam's awkward stare.  
  
"Who is that? Is that Zayn? Harry Edward Styles, do you have a boyfriend?!" Anne yells through the phone into his ear.  
  
"Yeah, mom. Zayn's here. I will call you tomorrow," he huffs out, fucking frustrated now. He can't let Liam see him flustered, and he can't make it look like his mom doesn't know about Zayn, who Zayn is.  
  
"Let me talk to him right now. You listen to me, Harry Styles. Give him the phone," she squeals out, in her excited yet firm voice, the voice he knows well. He fucking gives up, handing Zayn the phone, rolling his eyes. But Zayn's good, he's a good liar like Harry, so he rolls his eyes towards Liam, like this must happen all the time, before moving away from the two of them, to talk to Harry's mom. Harry prays they can pull it off.  
  
"She loves Zayn," he says, cool as ever, as Liam curls his lip in anger.  
  
"Well don't you two just have all moms wrapped around your little fingers," he slurs slightly.  
  
"What can I say, moms love us."  
  
"Clearly."  
  
Harry crosses his arms now, looking back at Zayn at the end of the hall, talking quietly into his phone, hoping he can pull this off for Anne as well. He looks back at Liam eyeing him.  
  
"You'll never make him happy, you know."  
  
"Oh trust me. He's very happy. In fact, I'm about to go make him happy in the car. Twice." He smiles, wickedly. Liam's face shakes in anger, right as Zayn walks back to them, handing Harry his phone.  
  
"Anne says we're supposed to spend the weekend with her," he says, grabbing Harry's hand, like it's no big deal, like him and Anne are best friends. Harry smiles, knowing it's working, everything's fine.  
  
"This has been lovely, Liam. Thank you so much for having us," Harry says, tugging Zayn away. Zayn gives a small wave to Liam, smiling.  
  
They make it out the door after another round of hugs from the Paynes, Liam excluded. They don't look at each other until they're halfway down the driveway, walking towards the car. Zayn's face practically cracks in two, his smile splits his face so wide. He's buzzing, practically bouncing, as they get closer to the car.  
  
"Did you see his _face_ , Harry? Holy shit, I can't believe that worked so well. You don't know, he's such a shithead. He never looked proud to be with me, he never gave a shit if I had a drink in my hand. And now look at him! Fuck, that was good," he says, hands on his hips, standing next to the car.  
  
"I'm glad it worked," he smiles back.  
  
"Thank you, Harry. Thank you _so_ much for doing this. You have no idea how good that felt, to throw it back in his fucking face how fine I am. Or like, how fine I'm going to be, you know? Fuck him."  
  
"I totally get it. And I was happy to," he says, hands now on his hips as well. They stand and look at each other.  
  
"Well, I wanted to tell you… Your mom, Anne. When we were on the phone, she asked about me, and I didn't know what to say. So I kept it really vague. Just that we were together or whatever. I didn't know what to say, Liam was right there."  
  
"No it's fine," he says, rolling his eyes with a smile. "She gets excited easily. I'll correct her later."  
  
"She seemed really happy. She seemed happy to talk to me, happy that you had someone," he says quietly, looking at his feet. "She said it was good, that after everything that happened with you, everything you went through… She said it was good you had me?"  
  
"Oh," Harry says, frowning. He shuffles his feet and looks away, back at the nice Beverly Hills houses on the street, all lit up with their perfect gardens and lawns.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"That's nothing. She's just dramatic, is all. She wants me to find a boyfriend. It's nothing. She just worries about me, wants me to be happy, eventually. Whatever."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Harry hopes that's that, and thankfully it is, as Zayn gets into the car, Harry following soon after. Once they're back on the road, heading back towards campus where they both live only a few blocks from each other, it's better. The energy doesn't feel as static.  
  
When they pull up in front of Harry's building, they sit in the car, radio playing softly in the background. Harry wants to invite Zayn in, is the thing. He wants to invite him in and have Zayn fuck his brains out. He might be sure of himself, confident, strong. But he loves to be shoved around. He wants Zayn to shove him, to see him naked, in his bed, in his shower, on his couch, wherever he can fucking get him. But he doesn't know if he's supposed to, if this really was a date, if they're doing this thing together. He doesn't know if it's all a lie. He doesn't know what the truth is.  
  
Zayn reaches out and grabs his hand, squeezing his fingers, as he continues to look straight ahead. Harry's so fucking grateful that Zayn touched him, let him know it's good, regardless of what they had to do tonight.  
  
"You wanna come in?"  
  
"How about next time?" Zayn says, finally turning to him, smiling.  
  
"Okay, sure. Next time," he says, nodding furiously, feeling like an idiot.  
  
"Hey, Harry?"  
  
"Yeah?" he looks up, hopeful.  
  
"Your mom seemed really happy to talk to me. Earlier. If you need me to help you, to let her see you're doing okay, if you need me to do this, whatever this is, what we did tonight… If you need me to do it for you, I can," he says, holding his hand tighter now.  
  
Harry sits and thinks for a moment, considers what Zayn just said. He supposes there are worse things than having your mom look at your life and see it as positive and healthy, to see you with someone, finally happy and moved on, once and for all. After everything, after the lows she saw him at for the last few years, maybe it couldn't hurt.  
  
He's just never lied to his mom before, ever. She knew he sneaked into the clubs, she knew about the boys he tried to sneak in and out of the house in high school. She knew him better than he knew himself. He's not sure he can lie to her.  
  
But he also thinks how nice it would be to spend a weekend with Zayn, in his house, home with his mom and family around him. So what if it's a lie? He's lied to everyone else in his life, might as well try it out on his mom, if it'll make her happy. She won't even know. Plus, lies can only hurt you if you let them.  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Of course. It's only fair," Zayn says, leaning his head back against the headrest.  
  
"Uh, okay. Thank you. Seriously. You wouldn't mind spending the weekend? At the house in Santa Monica?"  
  
"If you're asking me, if I'll go, the answer is yes. I'd be happy to," he smiles.  
  
Harry doesn't give a shit anymore, if it's not technically a date, if this was all just for show. He doesn't care, so he leans in and kisses Zayn again, this gorgeous stranger he's only known for a day. It's not for anyone else's sake but his own, which is nice. Zayn leans into him, runs his tongue along his lip, slips it into his mouth. He lets Zayn take control, lets him hold his face, breathe into his mouth.  
  
Harry loves giving it away like this, letting someone take what they want from him, even if it's just a kiss. He leans in more, is just about to grab Zayn's hand, when instead Zayn moves his hand to Harry's leg. He runs it along his inner thigh, inching his fingers up towards Harry's hardening dick. He ghosts his fingers over him slightly, making Harry gasp into his mouth.  
  
"Fuck," Harry breathes out, as Zayn grabs him right over his zipper.  
  
"I hope you have a good night, Harry," Zayn whispers, smiling against his mouth.  
  
Harry sits back, breathing heavy, to look at Zayn. "What?"  
  
Zayn just smiles, like the devil himself taught him how, as he moves his hands back to the steering wheel.  
  
"You tease," Harry says, smiling now too. "You're gonna pay for that."  
  
"We'll see," he says, before leaning in for one more kiss. "I'll see you in a few days, okay?"  
  
"Yeah, okay," Harry laughs again. "Bye Zayn."  
  
"Thanks again, for all of it."  
  
Harry kisses him again, before forcing himself out of the car, before he goes and grabs at Zayn. He wants to touch him so badly, he forces himself to swiftly get away from him entirely. He waves as Zayn pulls away and drives down the street.

  
  
***

  
It's not until Harry's in his bed mere minutes later, after stripping off everything he has touching his body, after he has a firm grasp around himself, that he thinks of Zayn's face again. He pictures his cheek bones and how hollow they probably get when a cock is in his mouth.  
  
He pictures Zayn sucking him off, wonders if he gets messy with it, if he lets spit get on his chin. He wonders if he uses his hands, if he likes to fist himself while he moves his face up and down on someone, or if he likes to wait until after. He comes over his fingers, thinking about Zayn blowing him with a finger in his ass at the same time. He can't wait to find out how he does it, if he fucking loves it.  
  
Harry texts Zayn, before he falls asleep that night, just a simple _goodnight Zayn_. He briefly thought about sending him a picture of himself naked, something to tease Zayn, as pay back. But he doesn't. He figures the first time Zayn sees him naked, it'll be in person.  
  
Preferably with Harry on his back, so he can see Zayn see him.

Before he falls asleep, the last thing he thinks about, is if he'll actually have to tell Zayn about what happened. If what happened needs to be told, if he can just fake it until he makes it, if Anne will let it go when they arrive. He hopes so. Then he thinks of Zayn, of Zayn's face when he was happy next to his car, after Harry did what he needed him to do. After Harry won.

Harry fucking loves winning.

  
  
***

  
So that's how it started. It began with a lie, so hopefully you paid attention.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Harry can put on a face for everyone, for anyone if he has to, except for his mother. He can lie to his dad, his stepdad, even Gemma if he absolutely has to, but never Anne. He's never even tried. He doesn't know if that's because he's always assumed it wouldn't work, or if he wants to keep at least part of himself whole, or if he needs at least one person in his life be able to know the true Harry. Maybe she keeps him grounded.  
  
She's also the only person on the planet who knows the full extent of what happened with Michael, which terrifies Harry, the fact that Zayn will soon be in her presence, her walking around, assuming Harry's told Zayn everything. She shouldn't get her hopes up, thinking Harry's actually divulged it to anyone.  
  
It's taken Harry a very long time to get over what happened with Michael. He's fucked a lot of guys, taken a lot of pills, and drank his way under too many tables to let himself fall down now, to let anything knock over the delicate house of cards he's built for himself. He'll be damned if one weekend with a stranger in his house brings it all back now. He'll just have to keep his mom from talking about it in any way. In fact, for his own benefit, to have a little fun, if it starts to look like Anne is about to bring it up, he'll pull Zayn away and shove his tongue in his mouth.  
  
You should be warned, though. Harry doesn't plan on telling Zayn a thing about any of it, so don't you get _your_ hopes up either.

  
  
***

  
Harry paces his living room a few times Saturday morning, staring at his duffel on the couch, toiletries and toothbrush not forgotten, his laptop safely in his bag, all the chargers tucked away and ready for the short drive to Santa Monica. It's absurd for him to be nervous. He's just taking Zayn to his house. He has to get over this nervous energy, this thing that comes over him when he thinks about Zayn, or pictures Zayn in his life.  
  
If he's going to sell this for real, to satisfy Anne and get her off his goddamn back about finding someone, he has to get his poker face on. He did it for Zayn, for Zayn's world. It's time to buck the fuck up and get his shit together.  
  
Just then there's a knock at the door, so he quickly goes to answer it.  
  
"Hey," Zayn says with a smile, strolling into his apartment, sunglasses perched on his perfect carved-from-marble fucking face. He's so attractive it almost makes Harry angry, makes him want to rip him apart at the seams. People aren't supposed to be that hot. It's unnerving for the rest of us.  
  
"Hey," Harry says, suppressing that urge as best he can. "Hope you're ready for this."  
  
"It's all good, Haz. I'm not worried," Zayn says cool as ever, and Harry wonders where the nervous guy from the bookstore is. Liam really must make him feel crazy. "Your apartment is really clean. Damn."  
  
Zayn walks around the living room looking at every surface, impressed, not a speck of dust anywhere.  
  
"I like to keep it neat," Harry lies, having just cleaned the entire place about an hour before Zayn arrived, out of nervous energy. He's actually quite the pig.  
  
"Cool."  
  
"So with traffic, we should be there in a little under an hour. It's probably a bitch on the roads right now, but… we'll get there when we get there, I guess. Ready?"  
  
Zayn just squeezes his arm for a second, before grabbing Harry's large bag and walking back out the open front door. Harry flails for a second, nerves overtaking him again, as he grabs his smaller bag and follows. As he locks the door, he sincerely wishes he had a Valium for the road.  
  
Once they're in the Range Rover and on their way, Harry steals another look at Zayn. He wants to hold his hand or something equally cheesy, but he doesn't. Not yet. If this weekend is anything like the engagement party, they'll be attached at the hand for two days straight, so.  
  
"Alright, Harry. Now it's my turn. Tell me everything. What do I need to know?" Zayn says, turning to him.  
  
Harry smiles as he pulls onto the freeway.  
  
"Well, I don't have quite the sordid history like you have with Liam," Harry lies, with a smile. "But I guess you should know that my mom can be kind of intense. My older sister Gemma was a piece of cake compared to me, literally the most perfect child a parent could ask for. I've always been the trickier kid. Uh, so yeah. Expect her to be in awe of the fact you're even around."  
  
"Damn," Zayn says, with a surprised look.  
  
"No, not that like… I'm awful, or she thinks I won't find anyone good. It's just, it'll probably surprise her, is all. How nice you are."  
  
"Noted."  
  
They sit like that for a few seconds before Harry continues, if nothing else, to fill the silence.  
  
"I'm studying communications because I'm not smart enough for law, or psychology, or anything. But I like it. I'm good at expressing myself," he says with a laugh. "And like I told you, I too like long showers. I love to sleep. It's hard to wake me up, actually. My stepdad Robin is cool. My dad lives in New York, in the city. I've lived in Santa Monica or Venice my whole life. I do not surf, so don't even ask, I can barely walk in a straight line, so."  
  
"I don't surf either," Zayn says with a loud laugh.  
  
"Some California kids we are, huh," Harry laughs back.  
  
They drive with the windows down, music playing softly from Harry's phone through the speakers, just sitting together. Zayn can let a moment just be, which Harry finds refreshing. He tends to fill any silence with noise, whether it be a stupid song, or ridiculous story. So to sit with another human being in a car, without that, is kind of nice.  
  
"So we know how we met," Zayn finally says, turning to him again. "What else?"  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Did I ask you out, or did you ask me out? Where do we like to stay the most, your place or mine? When's our anniversary? Why do we even like each other?"  
  
Harry's caught off guard by all the questions. He didn't realize they had to fill in all these holes. In all honesty, he kind of hoped they'd fill the holes as they happen, as they get to know each other better, have real stories and real conversations. He doesn't want Zayn to just know the fake him, he wants them to have real stories to be able to tell. It's a little terrifying, the first time he's felt like this since Michael, but there you have it.  
  
"Uh…" he stutters, shaking his head, like he's trying to get water out of his ears. He's a great fucking liar, what is his problem?  
  
Zayn must sense it, must sense that he can't think of it all on his own, so he helps.  
  
"How about this… you asked me out, after I supposedly tried to steal a beer, which I maintain I just happened to see, not knowing it wasn't for party goers. You charmed the shit right out of me, so I had to say yes. We stay at your place the most because it's nicer, and way cleaner than mine. We can't decide when our anniversary is, because we disagree on the exact date we became official. That'll help us actually, not having to remember too many dates or numbers… And we like each other because we're both impulsive, and I think you're hot," he rushes out, smiling, gripping the armrest.  
  
Harry feels like he has whiplash, Zayn came up with it all so fast. He quickly logs it away into his memory, to save it for later. He also vaguely thinks that the charm and bravado he had at the engagement party, the lies he threw into the universe for Zayn's sake, they're coming back to him now. He's grateful Zayn is taking charge for him this time. He must sense Harry needs it.  
  
"For the record, I think _you're_ hot," Harry says, looking to his left, out of the window and away from Zayn.  
  
Zayn laughs and turns up the music slightly.  
  
Harry smiles to himself.

  
  
***

  
Harry's fucked the second he pulls into the driveway. Because not only does he see his mom and Robin's cars in the garage, he sees Gemma's car in front of him. He wasn't expecting Gemma to be in town this weekend, let alone staying at the house. It was going to be bad enough, having to do this shit for Anne, but now he's going to have to keep an eye on Gemma too. Gemma doesn't know half of what Anne knows, about anything in Harry's life, but she's a Styles kid and she can be a fucking handful.  
  
"Shit," he huffs out, shifting into park.  
  
"What's wrong?"  
  
"My sister is here. Don't believe a thing she says, she's a fucking liar."  
  
Zayn gives him a _really, Harry?_ face, which Harry can read right away. Zayn knows Harry's a liar, knows they're both liars, liars can always sense other liars. Zayn eyes him like Harry can hardly be surprised that his sister can throw punches along with him. Harry just smiles back nervously. All of a sudden it hits him that maybe Gemma's the one who taught him how to do this, and he never even realized until this very moment. Damn.  
  
"Haz, we got this. Doesn't matter if your whole fucking extended family is here. You helped me, you got me through that night, let me help you get through this, okay?" Zayn says, grabbing Harry's hand and squeezing.  
  
"I've never lied to my mom before. Ever," he says, fiercely, looking Zayn in the eye. "This has to be good. This is for her sake, so she can see I'm fine, okay? We just have to make it good."  
  
"Done," Zayn says, squeezing his hand again.  
  
He hears the front door open, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees his mom and Gemma standing there, anxiously waiting for them to get out of the car.  
  
"Kiss me, hurry."  
  
Zayn doesn't even hesitate. He leans in and kisses Harry hard. They sit still for a second, let the Styles women see what they need to see, to prepare them for the weekend. Zayn holds his hand tighter, before moving his hand for a brief second to Harry's thigh, squeezing playfully.  
  
Harry pulls back with a laugh, as Zayn winks at him. They can do this, easy.  
  
Fuck, they already are.

  
  
***

  
Anne and Gemma both greet Harry with hugs, kissing him all over his face, as he tries to shoo them away. He's an adult, goddamn it. But then they zero in on Zayn as Harry starts towards the stairs to carry their bags to his room. He won't allow Zayn to be alone with either of them for even a second, so he says he wants to show Zayn around first. Gemma rolls her eyes, tugging Anne towards the kitchen. Anne winks at Zayn, which Harry doesn't miss, and he's nervous all over again.  
  
"They seem really nice," Zayn says, looking around Harry's old bedroom overlooking the ocean. It's covered in shitty band posters and there's even a stack of old books from high school in the corner. "And Gemma looks harmless."  
  
"Yeah, well. We'll see," Harry says, throwing their bags onto his queen bed, hands then moving to his hips, as he watches Zayn take in the space he grew up in. He could watch Zayn look at his surroundings, the world, all day. He wants to ask him a million questions, to hear what Zayn thinks of him so far, from the little he's seen. But then he realizes he doesn't want to know the answer.  
  
"So far so good. It's all good, Harry. We'll make your mom love me," Zayn says as he turns to him. He walks closer until he's right in his face, breath on Harry's mouth. "Do you trust me?"  
  
"Yeah, I trust you," Harry whispers, not even sure if that's true or not. He'd like to find out, he supposes.  
  
"Then let me do the talking this time, yeah?"  
  
"Okay," he says, before leaning in and kissing Zayn, for no reason, for himself, for fun. Zayn smiles into it at first and then kisses him back.  
  
Harry shows him around the upstairs, shows him the attic where Gemma used to drag him as kids to look out over the ocean at sunset. They head back down the other set of stairs in the old beach house, that lead directly into the kitchen, where Anne and Gemma sit at the table, drinking tea.  
  
"Alright ladies, do what you have to do," Harry sighs, announcing their arrival. He gestures for Zayn to sit next to him at the table near the open windows, breeze blowing their hair every which way.  
  
Gemma gets a wicked smile on her face, so Harry readies himself the best he can.  
  
"Hello Zayn. Welcome to our lovely home," she says, as Zayn settles in his chair. He grabs for Harry's hand under the table, angling his body towards him, so his mom and Gemma can see it. He's good.  
  
"Thank you for letting me come here, truly. Thanks," he says seriously, nodding to both of them.  
  
"Oh sweetheart, of course. We're glad you're here. Harry hasn't brought anyone home for a very long time," Anne says, smiling at him. "Do you want some tea?"  
  
"I'm good, thank you though."  
  
She just nods, taking a sip from her mug, staring at him. Harry rolls his eyes, at the fact that him not bringing anyone home has already come up, with both of the women in his life staring Zayn down like this. They've been here for five fucking minutes. He tries to change the subject, to keep it light.  
  
"Where's Robin?"  
  
"He'll be home for dinner," Anne answers, still staring at Zayn.  
  
Harry rolls his eyes again, getting antsy, holding Zayn's hand tighter.  
  
"So Zayn, tell us about yourself. Tell us who you are, how you caught Harry's eye," Gemma says, sitting back, sipping her tea.  
  
Harry quickly rattles off how they "met" at the party, the same shit he's said twice now. But it does nothing for Gemma, because she keeps looking at Zayn, clearly saying with her eyes _I asked you a question, Zayn._  
  
"Well, my family lives in Sherman Oaks. Uh, I'm studying to be an English teacher. I like reading, so," he says quietly. "Um, and I don't know how I caught Harry's eye. I know how he caught _mine_. It was the hair."  
  
Harry laughs, he can't help it. This act, Zayn coming off as shy, he knows it's all a part of it. This is Zayn easing his way into the situation, letting the Styles women know he's smart, kind, nice. Harry smiles at him, catching on. He's really fucking good. So he jumps in, knowing Zayn is volleying him the ball.  
  
"Zayn's really smart. After meeting at that party, after we went out a few times, I could tell how smart he was. He helps me study sometimes, it's nice," he says, smiling at Zayn.  
  
"Eh, that's just my excuse to be over all the time," Zayn smiles, nudging him.  
  
Harry doesn't miss it, the glance Anne and Gemma share, the excited smiles they send across the table.  
  
It's working, they're already seeing Harry and Zayn as being sweet, as falling for each other. Harry can tell Anne almost pumps her fist into the air, in celebration of Harry finally finding a good person, a person worthy of praise and hand holding. She's practically bursting with it now, affection for Zayn, and they've only been here for five fucking minutes.  
  
"I'm glad Harry found someone like you then," Anne says, leaning in to touch his arm. "I can already tell you're a good one."  
  
Gemma is smiling slightly, but she doesn't add anything. She doesn't touch Zayn's arm.  
  
"He is, mom. Swear," Harry leans in, kissing him on the cheek. It's all very reminiscent of the engagement party, of the conversation they had for Liam's mom's sake. It's oddly appropriate now, with Anne here to see.  
  
Harry thinks they're about to move on, to breeze past the initial meeting, the initial questioning of this new person in his life. But god forbid anything go Harry's way _ever_ , when Anne speaks again.  
  
"After everything, after the hell Harry went through last year, I'm happy you're here," she says, still touching Zayn's arm, eyes welling up. "It just wasn't fair for him, to be in so much pain. But you're here now."  
  
Harry tenses up, his entire body turns to stone. He wants to fall through the floor, to run out the front door. Zayn's not supposed to know any of this, to know the details. Harry didn't want it brought up again. He doesn't want Gem to know how much of a mess he was.  
  
But Zayn's a good fucking liar, too. Harry keeps forgetting.  
  
"You know, I think Harry's amazing. He was doing amazing before I showed up, and he'd be amazing without me. He's strong, even after all of it," he says with a serious look on his face, turning to Harry, to look him dead in the eye. "You're tough, Haz. I love that about you."  
  
Anne really does cry then, and it seems like even Gemma chokes up a bit, as Harry grabs his hand tighter. Fuck it, he's so grateful for Zayn in this moment, he doesn't care if they're right next to his family. He kisses Zayn, locks their mouths together, putting all the emotion he can into it.  
  
Gemma scoffs a little, before getting up to get tissues for Anne, as Anne turns away to grab their cups to take them to the sink.  
  
"Thank you," Harry whispers with a smile, as the girls chatter near the sink, talking about how nice Zayn is, and their sweet Harry, tissues flying.  
  
"I got you, Hazza. Trust me," Zayn whispers back, before kissing him again.  
  
Harry thinks Zayn must love to win, too.  
  
They spend the rest of the afternoon out on the back porch in the lounge chairs. Zayn doesn't let go of his hand the entire time, which makes Anne absolutely giddy. Gemma still eyes them every once and a while, which makes Harry only a little nervous.  
  
Because when it comes down to it, regardless of this fake shit they're doing, Harry really likes Zayn. He likes the person Zayn is, the sides of himself he chooses to put out into the world, even when he's wrapped up in a lie. Harry wants to hold his hand for real, when they leave, when they go home. He wants to show Zayn what his apartment really looks like, show him the mess he makes, the thought of which makes his stomach do flips, but there you have it.  
  
He also thinks, as he chops vegetables in the kitchen for dinner as the sun sets, how easy it's been lying to his mom for the first time in his life.  
  
That _should_ worry him, but it doesn't.

  
  
***

  
Robin gets home right as they're setting the table, right as Gemma pours the wine. Zayn politely declines and instead has a beer, which makes Harry slightly annoyed, the fact that Liam was right about him disliking wine. Harry wants to know all the shit he dislikes. He'll have to ask Zayn for a list later.  
  
Luckily, Robin is pretty chill when it comes to the Zayn situation, only saying it's good to see Harry with someone as nice as Zayn. And that's that. Zayn smiles at Harry as they eat, both of them knowing they lucked out not having to do the whole conversation from earlier over again with Robin present. Clearly the Styles women were the biggest and worst hurdle they'd have this weekend.  
  
It's all going well, until the food is gone and they all sit contentedly around the table, sipping their drinks. Gemma finally lays it out.  
  
"So Zayn. You're here this weekend, which is nice. But are you two actually dating? Like long term?"  
  
Harry stills before turning to look at her with wide eyes. _What?_  
  
"Gem," Anne says questioningly, looking at her with the same wide eyes.  
  
"Look, whatever. You're here, and that's great, because Harry hasn't had anyone be sweet to him in a while. Whatever. I'm just saying, if you're not going to stick around or be there for him in the long run, what's the point? You met at a party over a case of beer. And a few weeks later, here you are?"  
  
No one knows what to say. Harry's just about to jump in, to say him and Zayn are going for a walk on the beach, when Zayn beats him to it. He keeps forgetting Zayn's good at this, that Zayn's taking the reins for him, that this is his world, and Zayn needs to infiltrate it properly.  
  
"You don't know me very well, so that's not an unfair question," he says, nodding, understanding. "But I'm here, as long as Harry wants me around, I guess. It's all up to him, really. Harry likes to say I'm the force to be reckoned with, the one pushing us along. But I think we can agree: it's pretty much 'Harry's world,' as they say. We're all just livin' in it."  
  
That makes Robin laugh pretty hard, which breaks the tension. Harry doesn't know how Zayn knows it, knows that even though he's the baby of the family, he definitely is bossy and a force to be reckoned with. He's always been the kid in class setting the rules, creating the curve, making everyone laugh. He's never heard it quite in those terms before, but it all really _is_ his world, isn't it. He smiles, staring at Zayn, wondering how he knew. He really can read a room.  
  
Gemma doesn't settle like her parents, though. Not yet.  
  
"Just don't be a dick to him," she says, swirling her wine in the glass. "Stick around."  
  
"That's the plan," he responds quietly, grabbing Harry's hand. Harry sees it, the brief look of worry cross Zayn's face. Their lies are perfect, they're quite the team. But maybe he's having second thoughts now, too.  
  
"He's had too many guys be dicks to him, so it'd be nice to not have that happen again. That's all I'm saying," she finishes.  
  
"I wouldn't say it quite like Gem, but I'll reiterate that as well, I suppose. Please be careful with our Harry," Anne says, leaning forward, grabbing Robin's hand. Harry wants to run out of the room. It's getting too heavy again. Zayn's not supposed to know anything from before.  
  
Zayn just nods, grasping Harry tighter.

It occurs to Harry then that Zayn must think he's made of porcelain. He feels nauseous.  
  
Harry frowns and looks at the floor, where his feet suddenly won't sit still.

  
  
***

  
They walk along the beach after dinner, the moon bouncing off the waves, scattering light around them. They can hear various other families in their beach houses, laughing, playing music. Harry knows every family on this stretch of beach. He could go tell stories from school, things he's made up, to each and every one of them, something they want to hear, even though they don't know it, tell them all something to entertain them. He could do it for fun, like he normally does. But he can't, because Zayn is here, and no one knows how he likes to entertain himself, _and_ because he's too fucking heated.  
  
He's really fucking angry. Zayn tried to hold his hand, but he shook him off and walked ahead of him.  
  
"Stop looking at me like that, Zayn," Harry finally huffs out, turning to him, once they're far enough from the house.  
  
"How am I looking at you?" Zayn asks, stepping away.  
  
"I'm not broken. I'm not some little fucking kid who has his mommy and sister fight his battles. I'm fucking fine. I can walk into a room and light it up. I can be on _fire_ , Zayn. I fucking _burn_ , okay? So stop looking at me like I'm wounded."  
  
"I don't think you're wounded."  
  
"Good. Because whatever they say, or however sad and pathetic they make me sound, I'm not. And you don't need to know anything else, anything that happened before, because it's fucking over. It's done. We're just doing this weekend so my mom can see it, can finally see it, that I'm fine. That's it. That's all we're doing, right?" he finishes, looking to Zayn, challenging him, asking Zayn to tell him it's all a lie.  
  
"You don't need to tell me anything, Harry. I know you don't want to tell me things, it's fine. I don't want to tell you anything else about Liam, right?"  
  
Harry just stares at him. It's true, Zayn barely told him anything about Liam, about their time together, who they were. They dated for four fucking years and Zayn let him go off about five facts before they walked into that house in Beverly Hills. He realizes that Zayn is basically telling him all they have between them is an arrangement. He doesn't miss it, the words Zayn's trying to express.  
  
"We don't owe each other anything, right?" Zayn continues. "This is a mutual thing. We help each other."  
  
"Right," Harry nods along. "Right."  
  
"Liam makes me fucking nuts, makes me feel like a fucking loser. But I'm not. I burn too, Harry," he says, sternly. "You helped me show him, you helped me remind myself. And I'm helping you show them you're not wounded. We're fine," Zayn finishes, walking towards him. He reaches for his hand.  
  
Harry lets him hold his hand for only a second, before pulling Zayn into a hug. They hug each other, faces in necks, hands grasping shirts. He didn't realize how much they each needed the other, how they both had something to prove to the people in their lives. They still do. It's an arrangement, he knows. He's not stupid. But it doesn't stop him from wanting the hug to last all night, if he can swing it.  
  
He almost wants to lay it all out, explain what happened with Michael, how far he sank, why he's pushed everyone away since. He wants to tell the truth to someone, to finally tell it, tell someone besides his mom about that night. So what if Zayn's just here to return a favor. Maybe Zayn can know.  
  
But he doesn't say a word. He can't let Zayn see how vulnerable he let himself be, once upon a time. He can't be vulnerable now.  
  
Zayn reads it, he gets it.  
  
"You only have to give me what you want me to have, Harry," he says into his shoulder. "We should make this easy on ourselves. Only necessary info, you know?"  
  
"You can take anything. Seriously, take anything else," he whispers, leaning back.  
  
Zayn sees it in his eyes, he knows it. He _sees_ Zayn see him for what he is. He wants Zayn to kiss him, to push him, to move him somehow. It's an arrangement. They both know it. But they also both know what Harry wants from him.  
  
Zayn kisses him then, much to Harry's surprise. He figured after Zayn figured it out, saw through him, saw that he wanted him, he'd back off. But he surges forward and kisses Harry, grasping him tighter. Harry barely has brain function at this point, but he holds tight right back.  
  
They kiss and pant, as Zayn touches Harry's back, runs his hands along his sides, before moving up to grab at his face. He holds him still and slides his tongue against Harry's. He's pushing him, moving him, and Harry wants to put the energy around them into a syringe so he can shoot it into his veins. He wants to take a shower in it, lather in it, eat it, fuck it, it feels so good.  
  
Someone from one of the houses along the beach whistles at them loudly, making them finally let each other go.  
  
"It's just an arrangement, Haz. Okay?" Zayn pants out, looking at Harry with pleading eyes, willing him to understand that this is all he can give right now. He'll take what Harry gives, but that's it, he's not giving back.  
  
"Right," he pants.  
  
So it's an arrangement for now, Harry knows it. Zayn knows it. But they also know it's getting heavier to hold, that eventually it'll have to change. But for now, this is how it has to be. They still barely know each other, only revealing small parts of themselves, small parts wrapped up in so many lies, Harry's head spins when he tries to think about who Zayn even is.  
  
But it's an arrangement, and it's okay, because Harry wants Zayn around.  
  
Harry's fine with it.  
  
And that's just another lie to add to his list.

  
  
***

  
They make sure Harry's family, sitting on the back porch drinking their wine, watching the waves, see them holding hands as they make their way back down the beach. Zayn holds his hand as firmly as ever, reassuring him, telling him they're fine. It's all going exactly according to plan. Because Anne gets watery eyes again, as they walk towards the house. Harry only lets himself feel ashamed for a few seconds, lying to his mom like this, before pushing it away and gripping Zayn tighter.  
  
They indulge Anne and sit with them for a few minutes, on a lounge chair together, until Harry fakes a yawn and tells them they're going to head to bed early. As they climb the stairs towards his room, Harry readies himself for what he's about to do, for what he's about to give to Zayn, if he'll take it.  
  
He showers first, before Zayn heads in. He gets into bed in just a pair of boxers, slipping under the thin sheets in the darkened room. He listens to the waves through the open window, the waves he used to listen to his entire childhood, the waves that pulled him under once and kept him from ever attempting to surf. He remembers the first time he snuck Michael in here, the first time he saw his room when his family was in Orange County one weekend. Anne knew about the other boys, Harry could never lie to her, but she truly couldn't see Michael come in. It would've been bad for everyone, if she saw the person Harry chose to sneak in that night.  
  
But Harry stops himself, he can't think about Michael, especially now.  
  
Zayn joins him in the bed minutes later, laying with him, as they stare at the ceiling, letting the moonlight bounce off the surfaces of Harry's childhood furniture. It's odd, that they've only known each other for a week. It feels like Zayn's been around much longer. He in equal measure feels like Zayn knows all his secrets, and yet knows not one thing about him.  
  
He wants to be honest for once, about something random, just because.  
  
"I've never broken a bone," Harry says quietly, into the air around them.  
  
Zayn must get it. He must sense after all the time they've spent together, it's nice to just say things. Say things that are true.  
  
"I broke my collar bone when my younger sister pushed me off a swing. I told my mom I fell, so she wouldn't get in trouble," he says quietly back, letting their words hang together above them, before he laughs to himself. "I think that's the first time I ever lied to my mom, actually. How appropriate."  
  
Harry smiles and grabs his hand.  
  
"I think Gemma knows, about what we're doing, or she at least senses it's different. She thinks she's better than me, at getting away with shit, but she's not. It's written all over her face."  
  
"I figured."  
  
They lay for a while longer, hand in hand.  
  
"I lost my virginity in the gym closet at school, when I was fifteen," Harry says, smiling.  
  
"The fuck?" Zayn says back, laughing now. "Damn, Haz. I lost mine when I was seventeen, to Liam. In his shitty car, actually."  
  
Harry laughs at that, imagining trying to fuck for the first time, awkwardly in a backseat. He tries not to think about Liam seeing Zayn like that, for the first time. Liam doesn't deserve him, fuck that guy.  
  
Once they settle again and come back down from their fit of giggles, Harry lets his hand go. He purposefully moves away from Zayn, spreading his legs a little, an arm above his head. He hopes Zayn gets the message, sees it for what it is. He can take whatever he wants, anything but what Harry can't tell him.  
  
Thankfully, he gets it.  
  
Zayn slowly moves, turning to prop himself up on his forearms on either side of Harry, settling between his legs. He looks at Harry fiercely, touches his face. Harry leans into it, nuzzles his cheek against Zayn's hand.  
  
"You sure?"  
  
"It's an arrangement, Zayn. If we're going to make this easy on ourselves, we might as well have fun, right?" he whispers.  
  
"Okay. Then let's have fun," Zayn whispers, leaning down to kiss him.  
  
Zayn works his way into Harry's mouth hungrily, moving his tongue against his, still touching his face with his hand. Harry moves beneath him, feeling Zayn's erection against his. It's happening just like Harry wanted, their bodies rubbing together, and yet he still doesn't feel close enough. He wants more, all of it, over and over.  
  
He takes the hand not above his head and runs it across Zayn's shoulder, as Zayn kisses down his neck. Harry runs his hand down his chest, to the top of his boxers, before slipping his hand underneath the elastic to finally touch him. Zayn grunts into his mouth when Harry grips him, running his thumb over the slit.  
  
"Good?" Harry says into his open mouth.  
  
"Yeah," he says, then biting at Harry's chest, licking each of his nipples, before moving lower.  
  
Zayn settles between his legs, tugging his boxers off, before biting at the skin of Harry's thigh. Harry smiles and closes his eyes, letting Zayn see him, letting Zayn look at him naked for the first time. It might be an arrangement, and this might be fine and dandy for both of them, but it feels a lot like winning.  
  
And Harry fucking loves winning.  
  
Zayn grasps Harry in his hand, tugs him a few times, forces Harry to gasp into the open air, to grip the headboard, before finally guiding him into his mouth.  
  
It's hot and wet, just like he imagined, sloppy and dirty, and Harry wants to fuck his mouth so bad, he's itching for it. Zayn senses it, so he puts his hand on his lower abdomen, holding him down as he sucks him off, up and down, harder and harder. Harry can feel himself hitting the back of Zayn's fluttering throat and his eyes practically roll back in his head.  
  
"Holy shit," Harry huffs out, like he can't help it, like his vocal chords can't hold anything in anymore. "I'm gonna come, Zayn. Stop."  
  
Zayn comes up and takes a shuddering breath, spit all over his chin and hand.  
  
"What do you want? Tell me," he says in a rush, coming into Harry's vision again, leaning over his face. "Tell me."  
  
"I wanna taste you. I want to get you ready, and then I want you to fuck me," he says, kissing him, tasting himself, licking at Zayn's messy chin.  
  
"Motherfucker," Zayn exhales, with a slight smile. "Okay, okay that works."  
  
Harry flips them in a rush, shoving Zayn into the sheets, before grabbing for his boxers and throwing them to the floor. Zayn looks at him, watches him look at his body. Harry runs his hands up and down his chest, runs his thumbs over his nipples, across the V of his groin. He could look all day, but Zayn nudges him with his knee. He's aching for it. Harry smiles at him as he licks down his chest.  
  
He gets his mouth on Zayn, finally, and sucks hard. He doesn't even give himself a minute to get used to it, to let his jaw relax. He just takes him in his mouth, holding his hips, and wills his gag reflex to go away. He sucks him down, hollows his cheeks, doesn't even use his hand. He just makes himself take him, inch by inch, sucking and sucking, as Zayn breathes through his mouth and grabs at his hair.  
  
Harry wants to bring Zayn to the edge, to bring him almost all the way, because he wants to win, to be good at this, to be the best Zayn's ever had. If he's competing with Liam, and anyone else Zayn has been with, he's going to be the fucking best. He has to.  
  
He pulls off and looks at Zayn completely wrecked. His face looks pained, he can't breathe.  
  
"S'it good?"  
  
"Yeah, yeah, good," Zayn huffs out, grabbing himself, getting a hand on his cock to settle down, to hold off.  
  
"You gonna fuck me, Zayn?" Harry whispers, kissing his way back up his chest, to get at his neck. "You wanna fuck me?"  
  
"Yeah," he breathes into Harry's ear, just as Harry rubs their cocks together, as Zayn grunts louder.  
  
"You wanna get me ready? Or do you wanna watch me do it?"  
  
"I wanna do it, I wanna do it," he grunts, as Harry moves against him harder.  
  
"Okay babe, let's do that then," he says, reaching for his toiletry bag on the floor next to the bed. He grabs a condom and the lube and shoves them into Zayn's hand, pushing him, making him move so he can lay down.  
  
Zayn can't move fast enough now. It's like he's in the last leg of a race, the leg you have to focus the most, the hardest but best part. He lubes his fingers just as Harry completely settles, throwing his arm above his head again. Zayn runs his index finger along Harry's perineum, making Harry gasp loudly, before finally pushing in to the first knuckle.  
  
"Tell me how it feels," he says into Harry's stomach muscles.  
  
"Come on, more," Harry exhales, grabbing Zayn's shoulder.  
  
Zayn does as he's told and pushes his finger in slowly, working it in, twisting his hand. Harry's a panting mess, as he feels Zayn add a second finger, stretching him, working him through the slight pain.  
  
"Tell me, Harry."  
  
"It's good, it's good," he grunts, eyes screwed shut. "More."  
  
He hears Zayn mutter _fuck_ , as he curls his two fingers up to run them against his prostate. Harry jerks upward, his entire body tensing, as Zayn keeps running his fingers across it, over and over. He feels like he's on fire, and then Zayn adds a third finger, and he very nearly combusts.  
  
"You good, babe?"  
  
"I'm good, hurry up. Hurry," Harry pants. "How do you want me? Tell me."  
  
"Turn over," Zayn says forcefully, not fucking around anymore either. He needs it. Harry's brain slowly tells his limbs to move, so he rolls over and gets on his knees and forearms, shoving his ass back at Zayn as he hears the condom wrapper.  
  
Zayn doesn't even say anything, give him any words of warning. He just grabs his hips and suddenly Harry feels the tip of his cock against his entrance, teasing him. He wants this to be fucking amazing, so he smiles into his arm as he pushes back at Zayn, fucking himself slowly onto Zayn's cock before he can move, letting him in, until his ass is against Zayn's body.  
  
" _Motherfucker_ ," Zayn whines through the fist he has against his mouth, voice high in his throat. Harry knows it must look like quite the sight, to look down and see someone slowly fucking themself on your cock, like they can't wait any longer, like it's what they were meant for. "Holy shit, Harry. Fuck."  
  
If Harry didn't know any better, he would think Zayn is crying. But he just smiles, knowing he's not, knowing that he's feeling it, seeing it, experiencing it, and it's so fucking good, he can't even control the sounds he's making, the way his voice is coming out in a whine.  
  
Zayn's fingers tighten on his hips and Harry knows, he knows he has him. He could ask Zayn anything right now, anything in the world, and he'd get his way. He moves forward and then back again, hoping Zayn stays still for a minute, let's him do this for him.  
  
"Does it feel good?" Harry exhales, into his arm, moving on his cock, refusing to touch himself. He wants Zayn to do it, to want to.  
  
" _Fuck_ ," Zayn groans, hands tightening on his hips again. Harry's going to be bruised tomorrow, he can tell.  
  
Harry's just about to give in and touch himself, when Zayn reaches for him and grips him in his right hand. Harry groans loudly, pushing against him again, wanting Zayn to move now. He wants him to push him, shove him around, do what he wants with him.  
  
Zayn must know him, or he can read minds, because he slams against Harry now, again and again, moving his hand in time with his hips.  
  
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Harry whines into his arm, as Zayn works him over with his hand, faster now.  
  
"I want you to come first, Haz. Hear me?"  
  
"Yeah," he whines.  
  
He barely gets the word out before he's coming, body tensing, pulling Zayn into him. He grips the sheets in his hands, throws his face against the mattress, as he comes undone in Zayn's hand.  
  
Zayn lasts a second more before he's filling the condom, gripping Harry's hip in one hand, as he says _fuck_ again and again, into the skin of Harry's upper back.  
  
They take a few breaths before Zayn slowly pulls out. He ties the condom off before throwing it in the trash can next to the bed. He collapses next to Harry, who has barely moved from his position on his stomach.  
  
He lazily opens his eyes to see Zayn looking at him, their faces close. Zayn places a chaste kiss on his lips, smiling into it, when Harry finally has the energy to speak again.  
  
"Fun?"  
  
"Yes, Haz. Fun," he smiles again.  
  
They fall asleep soon after, two sweaty bodies, as the waves crash against the sand outside the window.

  
  
***

  
The next day, they wake up tangled together. Harry's cheek is against Zayn's chest. It's as he looks up to Zayn's face that he sees his arm covering his eyes. The fact that Zayn covers his face when he sleeps, shields himself from the light, is the cutest fucking thing Harry's ever seen and he wants to bite him somewhere, just because. So he does, he bites the skin below his left nipple, startling Zayn into consciousness.  
  
Zayn swats him away with a smile on his face, as Harry laughs.  
  
They eat breakfast with Harry's family. They do the dishes. They walk the beach again. They kiss as they do each task, if you really want to know. It seems that now the fire has been lit, Harry can't stop touching Zayn. Zayn either doesn't mind, or he's still doing it for his family's sake. Harry doesn't care at the moment. He'll take it.  
  
If it's just an arrangement, it's a pretty fucking good one, all things considered.  
  
Anne asks them to go to the store down the street, to pick up a few things for her. They had promised to stay for dinner, before driving back to campus, each with an early class the next day.  
  
They walk together, down the streets of Santa Monica, hand in hand, just because. Harry points out the various landmarks around them, places he's puked after late nights of drinking, his first boyfriend's old house, the corner he saw a really terrible car accident on once when he was a kid. He saw blood all over the pavement that day, and he'll never forget it. Zayn doesn't know it yet, and he certainly doesn't know why, but Harry really, _really_ doesn't like blood. The thought of it all makes him shiver, so Zayn runs his hand along his hip as they cross the street to the other side.  
  
It's as Harry stands in the produce section, looking at his mom's list, trying to figure out what kind of onion she's talking about, when he picks one up and hears the gasp behind him. Zayn comes to stand next to him, throwing pasta into the cart, when he hears it too. They both hear the gasp, so they turn around at the same time.  
  
It's Michael. He's standing there, staring at Harry, with a baby in one arm and a full grocery basket in the other.  
  
He stares at Harry. Harry stares at him. Zayn stares at them both.  
  
Harry drops the onion.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry is a very competitive person, if that wasn't already clear and apparent. He likes to win. He likes to best others, in any way that he can. He's been competitive from the time he could stand, trying to run before he could walk. Growing up, Gemma was great at everything she did. She was smart, able, athletic. So when Harry discovered he was sweet and charming, he used it to his advantage, to show his parents and Gemma that he could be great too, just in a different way. He learned early on that he could be the one in class to set the rules, create the curve, make everyone laugh. He knew what he wanted and he sought it out, no matter the small white lies he had to tell.  
  
Let it also be known that while Harry is also brash and impulsive, he's not impatient. He can wait for what he wants, if he has to.  
  
Which leads us to Michael, as so many things in Harry's life tend to, at least for the last few years.  
  
The thing that drew Harry to Michael in the first place, once they became friends, was the way Michael held his shoulder when they talked. He didn't do it in a weird way, or in a way that would look odd to an outsider looking in. It was just a touch, a touch from one human to another. But the mere feel of his hand on Harry's skin made him feel anxious and sweaty, in a good way.  
  
Harry was fourteen the first time he saw Michael, when his family moved into the house across the street. Michael was twenty three, a few years out of college, still living with his parents while he saved up money to buy a house. Harry watched him from the attic, as he walked back and forth from the moving truck to the front porch carrying heavy boxes. He wasn't wearing a shirt and the Santa Monica sun made the sweat glisten across his shoulders. Harry distinctly remembers the finger prints he made on the glass of the attic window, as he watched Michael, back and forth, for over an hour, watched the muscles of his arms. Harry was fascinated by the scruff on his chin, the dark hair that curled around his ears just like Harry's did.  
  
Their families started spending time together, Robin and Michael's dad getting along, golfing, while Anne and his mom would sit on their porch, drinking coffee on Sunday mornings. Harry caught himself constantly staring at Michael when they gathered for dinners, or Saturday brunches, would watch Michael's hands as he waved them in front of his face, telling funny stories. Harry was fucking obsessed.  
  
But Harry wasn't stupid. He knew he was too young, that Michael was too mature, so he quietly savored the touches, the brush of Michael's arm, the feel of his hand on his shoulder when their families walked the beach as one big group. Michael wasn't creepy, didn't hit on him, didn't make him feel uncomfortable. He had girlfriends, even introduced Harry to a few, which he only realized later meant that many of the girlfriends and relationships overlapped.  
  
So he waited.  
  
Harry waited until he was in college, when he turned nineteen, when his growth spurt hit and his shoulders widened. He had tattoos by nineteen, a smile that could kill. He was the kid who weaseled his way into clubs, the kid who burned so bright, he soared. He almost laughed when Michael initially tried to ignore him when he bought the house from his parents and lived in it alone. He saw Michael turn away when he smiled too big, when his laugh got so loud it worked its way into every crevice of Michael's life, whenever Harry came back to Santa Monica on the weekends and showed up on his doorstep, drunk, before stumbling home with a smile on his face.  
  
He waited until he was nineteen, until Michael was in his late twenties, even older, even more mature than Harry knew. He waited and watched, let Michael come to him, until eventually Harry had him _beg_ for it, tugging his hand so he would stay at his place instead of going home.  
  
Harry didn't know though, that he wasn't the only liar, the only _good_ liar, on their block. Harry had that problem, of underestimating others, of not realizing who someone was until they were spitting it in his face, throwing it around him, shoving it into his arms. If he had been paying attention to Michael all along, he would've seen it before the last night he walked into Michael's kitchen, the night it all crumbled around him.  
  
He didn't know he'd have to slowly walk back to his house after it all went down. He didn't know he'd have to walk across the street, back to his mom, to show her his shaking hands, after it all ended. That was the last night Harry ever told the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, to anyone.  
  
That's all he'll let himself remember, when Michael's face or name hover to the forefront of his mind, on the nights when it comes back, the love he had for Michael, when he's not drunk enough, didn't take enough pills, or can't sleep. That's all he'll allow himself to think about.  
  
That is, until Michael is standing in front of him in a grocery store, with an onion at his feet.

  
  
***

  
Harry knows Zayn is stumped, is nervous, anxious, frenzied, as they stand next to each other and stare at Michael. Harry knows because if the situation were reversed and he saw Zayn standing here like a crazy person, he'd flail his arms and ask what he should be doing to ease the tension, to help, to keep up the arrangement.  
  
Zayn doesn't know if he should hold his hand, or step in front of him. He doesn't know if this stranger in the produce section is an enemy, an old friend, an ex he's supposed to help Harry make jealous. He doesn't know any of it because Harry hasn't told him a thing. He hasn't told him the truth.  
  
Michael opens his mouth like he's about to speak, but he thinks better of it, and snaps it shut. He awkwardly shuffles his feet, before setting the basket down and shifting the little girl into the opposite arm. She's staring at Harry too, and he still can't move.  
  
"Harry, what do you want me to do? What am I supposed to do?" Zayn says from behind him, in a whisper, as close to Harry's ear as he can get. He has his hands bunched in the back of Harry's shirt, tugging him back, frantic.  
  
Harry, mute and dumbfounded Harry, shrugs his shoulders.  
  
Zayn finally makes the snap decision to fucking do something. He steps in front of Harry, completely shields him with his body, before shoving his hand out towards Michael.  
  
"Hey, I'm Zayn," he says, straight faced, still trying to gauge what the fuck is happening.  
  
"Oh uh, hi. I'm Michael," he says in that rough voice of his, the voice Harry knows so well, the voice he could change into a high pitched squeal when he did that thing with his fingers.  
  
"Nice to meet you," Zayn says awkwardly, as Harry continues to stare.  
  
"Uh, this is JJ," he says, looking down at the baby in his arms, her fist in her mouth, still staring at Zayn and Harry.  
  
"Hello, baby," Zayn says in a quiet voice, smiling to her.

Harry can feel Zayn about to turn, about to turn and look at him, expecting him to talk, or say hello, or in any way acknowledge the man standing in front of them, to also smile at the little girl in his arms. He knows Zayn is trying to volley to him, to get them to team up and do this together, like they have been since they met.  
  
But he can't. So he hurries and grabs for the back of Zayn's shirt now, bunching it in his hands, pulling him, scratching at his skin. He feels like he's about to crawl out of his own, he's going to vomit.  
  
Zayn doesn't turn to him after all, his head instead snapping forward to look at Michael again, to look him in the eye.  
  
"We need to go," he says, businesslike, robotic, reaching back to grab Harry's arm, nodding. "Nice to meet you."  
  
He shoves Harry away from him so he can grab the cart, before pushing it and Harry towards the front of the store. They abandon it right by the door and walk out, away from the shitty music playing over the speakers, away from the food Anne wanted them to buy. Zayn grabs his arm and pulls him away, back towards the street, back towards the house.  
  
They walk, Harry staring straight ahead, his face completely blank.  
  
He hasn't seen Michael in a very long time, so long in fact, he almost convinced himself he forgot what he looked like, how his voice sounded. His mom told him Michael moved out of the house across the street, instead choosing to rent it to a bunch of young kids wanting to live near the beach. Supposedly him and his girlfriend, or wife, or whoever the fuck she is, they moved further south to Venice, near the canals. He didn't think he'd see him in the grocery store, near his home, with his fucking baby. He didn't anticipate it, he couldn't.  
  
"Harry, what the fuck was that about? Who was that?"  
  
Harry just keeps walking, face empty of emotion.  
  
"Seriously, tell me. I know we don't tell each other shit, I get it. But I can't walk into your house with you like this, your mom will be fucking worried sick."  
  
They keep walking.  
  
"Harry, stop," Zayn practically shouts, grabbing his arm and forcing his body to face him. "Just tell me what you have to tell me, for Anne. For your family. What do I have to say? What do I do to help you?"  
  
Harry looks at him, at the anxious look on his annoyingly perfect face, and he wants to tell him everything, tell him about the worst day of his life, when everything he thought he was going to have, fell to his feet like a fucking onion. But he doesn't want to tell the truth, especially to Zayn, to tell him how fucking pathetic he is, how stupid he let himself become, how he fainted on his own doorstep at his mom's feet, the night it ended.  
  
So he doesn't.  
  
"Just tell my mom we saw Michael. Just say that," he says, quietly, emotionless. "She'll get it. Just say Michael. With his baby. She'll know."  
  
He turns away from Zayn and walks towards the house, Zayn following quickly behind him.

  
  
***

  
They walk in the front door right as Anne comes down the stairs. She sees them empty handed and is about to question it, when she sees Harry's blank expression. He walks past her up the stairs towards his room.  
  
"Michael, we saw Michael," he hears Zayn say quietly, as he gets to the top of the stairs, turning the corner.  
  
"Oh no," he hears even quieter, as he shuts the door and climbs into his bed.  
  
Zayn comes in only a few minutes later. He takes off Harry's boots, tugs his jeans off, before climbing in with him and wrapping his arms around his torso, lips against the back of his neck. Harry only cries for a few seconds, before he sniffs hard, getting his face in check.  
  
"Do you wanna talk about it?"  
  
"No."

  
  
***

  
Harry fell asleep some time after Zayn got into bed with him. But when he wakes up, he's alone. The sun is starting to set, he can see the light scattering around his room, reflecting off the shiny band posters all over the walls. He vaguely wonders if they should leave soon, get back to campus, for class the next day. But then he realizes he doesn't care.  
  
He walks out into the hall, makes his way towards the back staircase to head down to the kitchen, to find Zayn. He shouldn't be nervous, Zayn can clearly handle himself around his family. He can even extricate Harry from awful and intense situations. As he starts down the stairs, Harry realizes he didn't have to say a word to Michael, didn't have to get himself out of it because Zayn did it for him. He deserves a fucking award for it.  
  
But he stops halfway down the stairs when he hears them talking in the kitchen, at the table, cups thumping against the old wooden table.  
  
"Thanks for being there for him. I can't thank you enough," he hears his mom say, between sniffles.  
  
"Of course, Anne. I got him out of there, he didn't even talk to him, promise," Zayn says quietly.

Harry hopes he's holding her hand. She likes that when she's crying.  
  
"I know my son, Zayn. And I know he hasn't told you everything. He can't lie to me."  
  
"I figured."  
  
"But just know, Michael is one of the worst people I've ever met. He built Harry up and then watched him fall. He promised him the world and then shoved him out his front door, even after the accident in his kitchen, after Harry helped him."  
  
They're quiet then, and Harry vaguely hopes that's it. He hopes Anne doesn't finish the rest. Zayn doesn't need to know how much of little bitch Harry is, how much of a mess he was that night.  
  
He should walk into the kitchen now, stick his tongue in Zayn's mouth, have fun, something. But he doesn't. He just sits on the stairs with his head in his hands, listening. Maybe Anne will do it for him, fuck it. Who even cares anymore.  
  
But they don't talk further, and Harry just stays on the stairs, listening to the waves crashing outside the open back door. He only looks up when he senses Zayn in front of him. Zayn's standing at the bottom, staring up at him, looks at him sitting there like a child, before walking up the steps and grabbing his hand.  
  
"C'mon, Haz," he says quietly, grabbing his arm to tug him upstairs again. "We're not going back yet. We'll go back late tonight."  
  
Once they're back in his room, back in bed, laying together and looking at the ceiling, Zayn finally speaks.  
  
"You don't have to tell me any of it. I get it," he says, reaching for his hand. "I really, truly get it."  
  
"I know."  
  
"And don't worry, your mom didn't give away anything. She just said you were together or whatever, that he was a bad person. And I get it."  
  
"I'm going to tell you, Zayn. I'll tell you all of it. But just know you're the first person I've told other than my mom. It's just really fucking embarrassing, okay? That's why I don't tell people, why I keep it close," he says, sighing, letting go of Zayn's hand so he can cross his hands on his chest.

  
  
***

  
Alright, if you must know, you can hear it too.  
  
Michael was Harry's first real love. He was the first person Harry told the truth to, the only person besides his mom who he didn't want to lie to, even about the little things. After Michael finally let him in that first night, the first night they tore into each other, right there in the front hallway, it was like a riptide, pulling them under before they could catch a breath.  
  
Michael taught Harry how to be an adult, how to love someone with every cell in his body, every fiber of his being, every hair on his head. Every moment of every day was _Michael, Michael, Michael,_ like a chant in his head, pounding against his skull. They loved and loved and loved, over and over, on every surface of his house, every piece of furniture he owned. Michael's tongue could send Harry over the edge in about three seconds, take him from zero to sixty in no time at all. They loved and fucked, talked and laughed, sang and danced, almost every day for over a year. He told Harry he was perfect, told him he loved him, held him close. Harry believed every word out of his mouth, which was stupid of him. He knew better than anyone how to lie and get away with it.  
  
Michael told him it had to be a secret, that he couldn't be brazen with Harry because of how young he was, because of what people would think. They met when Harry was so young, people couldn't get the wrong idea. His parents couldn't know, Harry's family lived across the street, they couldn't see. Harry convinced himself that parking two blocks away and then sneaking into Michael's backyard wasn't a big deal, that when Michael showed up to his dorm and then his apartment near USC, so his friends wouldn't see, that it was fine.  
  
When it all crashed, the night Michael ended it, had it just been a clean break, a normal break up, Harry thinks he would've been fine. He would've been devastated, sad, depressed, of course. Harry likes to believe he would've gone back home, drank until he passed out, cried for a few weeks, to try and get over him, get over the person who said he wanted to marry Harry someday. By then Harry was twenty, and thinking about their first house, the baby they'd bring home eventually. He tells himself now, that had the accident in the kitchen not happened, had he not seen all the blood on the floor, he would've been fine.  
  
But that's not the truth, so Harry continues on, telling Zayn the rest while he's on a roll, while he's finally telling someone everything.  
  
When Harry showed up that night, expecting Michael to fuck him after not seeing him for a few days, he didn't know he'd find someone else with him in the kitchen, fighting, throwing wine glasses at cabinets. He walked in to find Michael and some guy going at it, screaming, throwing dishes, spitting hateful words.  
  
He'll never forget Michael's face when he looked over and saw him standing in the doorway, as he assessed the scene, saw the mess of glass in the kitchen and dining room, the wet marks in the rug, the white wine seeping its way across the floor, crawling towards his feet.  
  
"Harry, what the _fuck_ are you doing here?"  
  
Harry just stared at him, then to this other guy, a guy his age, a guy who looked like him. He was thin like Harry, cute, a mess of hair.  
  
"Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me right now!" the guy screamed, chucking a plate at Michael's head.  
  
"Shut the fuck _up_ , Hunter. This is it, get the fuck out," Michael bellowed back.  
  
But this Hunter person wasn't done, not by a long shot. He threw another plate towards Michael, missing his face by an inch, where it shattered against the wall behind him, before turning to Harry.  
  
"Oh excuse us, we were just having a disagreement. See, he's been fucking both of us for months now."

Harry's face started to get hot, his palms started to sweat, as the words flew at him.

"But do you want to know the best part, whatever the fuck your name is?"  
  
Harry's hands started to shake, as the guy walked towards him.  
  
"Shut the fuck up, Hunter. Stop," Michael warned.  
  
"Fuck you," he yelled back at Michael, before turning back to Harry. "See, he's been fucking us both, telling us all the same bullshit, for months. Did he tell you he loved you? He doesn't. Did he promise you an entire fucking life together? That was a lie. He's a fucking prick. And do you know why?"  
  
Harry started to cry, as Hunter got closer, laughing now, his shoes crunching in glass on the hardwood floor.  
  
"He's getting married, babe. He's getting married to some dumb bitch who's having his fucking kid. He's having a baby," he snarls, turning back to Michael, smile now gone. "I hope you're fucking miserable, you disgusting piece of shit. I hope you rot in hell."  
  
Harry saw it happen in slow motion, the final few steps Hunter took towards the doorway he stood in, towards the exit. His foot slipped on the wine on the floor, and he fell backwards towards the counter. The side of his head smacked against it before he crumpled to the floor.

Harry didn't know head wounds bled so much, that blood could gush out that fast.  
  
Michael yelled, freaked out, ran around, not knowing what to do. He yelled about calling an ambulance, about getting Hunter to a hospital. But Harry realized later, after really thinking back on it, that he didn't run to Hunter, didn't hold him, or help him, or give him words of comfort. He didn't touch Harry's shoulder, or whisper it would be okay. He just walked around, yelled into his phone at the 9-1-1 operator. Harry even briefly heard him worry about blood getting on his mom's favorite rug.  
  
Harry was the one to hold Hunter. He held his hands against the massive cut on the side of his head, tried to keep the blood out of his face and away from his eyes. Hunter was awake, knew what had happened. He looked up at Harry, from where his head rested in Harry's lap, with pleading eyes, frozen in shock, while Michael ran around them, freaking out more.  
  
Harry stood there when the paramedics arrived, stood there when they got him on the stretcher and out the front door, as one told him Hunter would be fine, that head wounds bleed a lot, but once they stitched him up, they shouldn't worry. One of them patted Harry's shoulder and told him he was a good friend for looking out for Hunter before they got there. He almost vomited then and there, as he looked down and saw the blood on the floor. Harry doesn't do well with blood.  
  
Harry didn't know what to do, what he should say to Michael before the cops arrived.  
  
But Michael didn't give him a chance. He looked around at the mess of his kitchen, of his life, and screamed at Harry. He screamed for Harry to leave, to get the fuck out, to go home, once and for all. He pushed Harry towards the door, screamed that he wanted his fucking life back, without Harry, or Hunter, or any other fucking guy, in it. He screamed and screamed, while Harry took it, let him shove him, push him.  
  
Harry walked home as the cops arrived, to make sure it wasn't a domestic disturbance. Harry found out later from Anne that Hunter told the truth, said he fell after a fight with Michael, that Harry just caught the end of it.  
  
Anne opened the door that night, to find Harry standing there, saw the dried blood covering him. He looked at his bloody hands one final time and fainted at her feet.  
  
When he came to, she cleaned him up and got him into bed, held him while he cried. And then because she knows Harry, knows him better than he knows himself, as the one person he's never lied to, she promised she wouldn't tell anyone the full extent of what happened. She wouldn't tell Gemma, or Robin, or anyone else, about the mess he let himself get in. Harry lied his way through life, to look perfect, to be the best, to entertain himself. He couldn't be the kid who got shoved out a front door, the kid who allowed himself to be used like a piece of trash for over a year, with a guy like Michael.  
  
As far as his family and close friends know, Harry and Michael From Across The Street had a short fling. Harry loved him, naively and like a child, but Michael didn't love him back, so Harry got really depressed afterwards. He self medicated and drank too much because Michael From Across The Street is kind of a dick, and let Harry, a young kid, believe he was a good person.  
  
As far as anyone knows, Harry was broken up with, which fucking sucks. It breaks you. It broke him, for a while. So he takes pills sometimes and drinks too much, and sometimes he fucks boys in their bedrooms, before lying his way out of them. He's been doing it for over a year now.  
  
Because Harry let himself fall into someone for real. He got vulnerable, told the truth too many times, let himself get swept up in it. He let himself believe everything Michael told him, believed the _I love yous_ and the _forevers_ , because he wanted to hear it all. He craved it, until it all crashed down, from the highest of highs to the lowest of lows.

He realized, after months of self loathing, that the kid who could lie his way into clubs, the kid who could lie his way out of any sticky situation he found himself in, could be the kid who lies to get through the day. He could lie his way into happiness, into boys' beds. Now he lies so often, to so many people, he doesn't even know when he's doing it anymore.  
  
So since Harry is rarely honest these days, now you know what's underneath it all, the smile and the hair and charm. Now you know what Harry Styles really looks like.

  
  
***

  
Harry feels like the story about the worst fucking day of his life took about thirty seconds to tell Zayn, and also about thirty years. Either way, after he opens the flood gates and tells him everything, Harry's exhausted.  
  
Luckily Zayn gets it, just lets him sit with it for a while, as the room gets darker and darker around them, as they lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.  
  
"So like I said, I haven't told anyone that. Because it's embarrassing on so many levels. The fact that I didn't see what kind of person he was, didn't notice he was fucking about twelve other people besides me," he says with a sigh. "And it also doesn't help that I hate blood and let a fucking cut on some dude's face cause me to faint into my mom's arms. It took me a long time to get over, to try and move on, which I feel stupid for. So I lie all the time," he finishes, with a whisper.  
  
"No, you don't get to do that," Zayn says fiercely, finally speaking after Harry's story. "Don't."  
  
Harry turns to look at him, slightly startled.  
  
"Don't apologize for it, don't feel shitty because of how you dealt with any of it. Don't be embarrassed. So you lie, who cares? Someone fucked you over and you were a mess. I know how that feels, remember? I know how it feels to fucking break, okay?" he says, practically out of breath, before settling back down on the bed.  
  
"Do you want to talk about it? You can tell me, if you want," Harry says quietly, running his fingers up and down his arm, touching him again.  
  
Zayn ignores him, but continues talking.  
  
"Don't apologize for how you choose to make it through the fucking day, okay? Sometimes we do whatever we fucking can, to get up in the morning and get over someone. You do whatever it takes to move on."  
  
Zayn's angry, his breathing erratic.  
  
Harry holds his hand.

  
  
***

  
Anne gives them each a massive hug as they throw their bags into the Range Rover. She holds Harry close and whispers that he'll be fine, that she'll check if Michael and his family are moving back into the house across the street, that either way it'll be fine. Harry watches as she hugs Zayn, holds him tight, and whispers something in his ear, something that makes him pull back and nod. Gemma and Robin give small waves from the front door, not quite sure what's going on, but smart enough to let it be. Before they get in, Anne makes them promise they'll come for the weekend again soon, Harry nodding.  
  
Zayn doesn't even ask, he just takes the keys and gets in the driver's seat. Harry rolls the passenger window down so he can let the night air in, the shitty smoggy Los Angeles air, as they fly down the freeway back towards campus.  
  
Zayn doesn't ask how Harry feels, if he wants to talk more, if he wants to tell him anything else. He drives them to his apartment, grabbing Harry's bag and leading him into the building. Harry notices that Zayn's living room is a mess. He has books everywhere, clothes on the couch, shoes littering the hallway leading to his bedroom.  
  
He follows Zayn in there and sees him put his stuff in the corner. He doesn't turn on any lights, doesn't waste time. Harry watches him very purposefully take off his shirt, undo his belt, kick off his shoes. Harry catches up, takes off his own shirt, removes the rest of his clothing until he's naked.  
  
Zayn grabs for him and lays him on the bed. He kisses him hard, his brow furrowed, as he moves to suck a mark into his neck. Harry lets it happen, lets Zayn do what he wants, as he sucks at his neck, his collar bone, down his chest, until he has him in his mouth. He sucks Harry off like he's starving for it, like he needs it just as much as Harry does.  
  
Harry comes down his throat, his hands in his sheets, crying out into the dark. Zayn hurries up the bed to straddle Harry's chest, panting, grabbing for his hair, feeding his cock into his mouth. Harry hurries to take him in, to relax his jaw. Zayn holds his head as he fucks into his mouth, grunting as Harry takes him down his throat, trying to swallow around him, to make it good. Harry wants it to be so good.  
  
"You want it?" Zayn huffs out, gripping his hair tighter, pulling, as Harry moans around him.  
  
He comes with one last push, shudders through it, spilling into Harry's mouth.  
  
As he pulls out, Harry takes a massive breath, spit all over his chin. He closes his eyes and pants through it, before he feels Zayn hovering over him, wiping at his face with a tshirt, kissing his cheek, kissing his mouth.  
  
They fall asleep with Zayn draped over him, between his legs, head on his chest.

  
  
***

  
Harry wakes up alone. He's still naked, under a thin sheet, as sunlight streams in through the blinds. His head aches, probably from the pure adrenaline rush, the rush of emotions from the day before. He scratches at the back of his head, sitting up.  
  
There's a note next to the lamp, by his phone.  
  
 _Fuck class. I'm getting us food. Be back soon._  
  
Harry smiles at Zayn's ridiculous handwriting. It's neat, proper. Maybe he needs it to be legible to be a teacher. Maybe that's a requirement, he wouldn't know.  
  
He wanders into his bathroom to take a piss, looking around at Zayn's space. He's messy, sure, leaving shit everywhere. But he's not dirty, his bathroom is clean. The kitchen is clean.  
  
Harry starts the coffee, walking around in his briefs, catching sight of himself in a mirror. He has a bruise on his neck, one he's sure none of his shirts will cover, and it makes him smile. Michael never left marks, never bothered to pay attention to Harry's skin too long, always wanting them to get off as fast as possible.  
  
A knock comes at the door, which makes Harry stop, wondering if he's supposed to answer it when Zayn isn't home. Harry can be indecisive, so he bounces from foot to foot, antsy, not knowing what to do. It's as he's deciding, feeling the pull within his brain, when he hears the voice.  
  
"Come on, Zayn. Open up," Liam calls through the wood, knocking harder.  
  
Harry narrows his eyes. Fuck that guy. He strides over to the door and throws it open, to see Liam standing there in dark jeans, a black hoodie, and a backwards snapback, with his stupid innocent face.  
  
"Zayn's not home right now," Harry says with a sly smile, letting Liam see him marked up and practically naked in Zayn's living room.  
  
"I need to talk to him."  
  
"Sorry, dude. He's not home. He's getting us breakfast. We're," he pauses dramatically, "pretty famished this morning, so."  
  
"Go fuck yourself, Harry. Seriously."  
  
"Why are you here?" he says, annoyed now. His head hurts and he doesn't want him here when Zayn gets back.  
  
"I came to talk to Zayn, not that it's any of your fucking business," Liam says, pushing past him to walk into the apartment. He stands there and looks around, looks at Zayn's mess.  
  
Harry looks at him expectantly, lifting his arms to prove Zayn really isn't here, before gesturing towards the door again. His head hurts, he wants coffee. He's annoyed.  
  
"I see all of the shit on his floor is back," Liam says, still surveying the room, before turning back to Harry to stare him down. "I always made sure he didn't live in a mess. I clean up his messes."  
  
Harry rolls his eyes. He's not going to do this.  
  
"Go home, Liam. He doesn't want you here."  
  
Liam ignores him.  
  
"I feel bad for you, Harry. I truly feel sorry for you, if you think this is anything other than a rebound to piss me off. It's working, I'll give him that," he says, hands on his hips, fighting stance ready.  
  
"Fuck you."  
  
"No fuck _you_. Because I don't know what he's told you, but it's all bullshit. All of it."  
  
"You think I can't see you? You think I don't see right through you? Liam, come on. You have to be smarter than that. Right? You _have_ to be smarter than you look. Because he told me how shitty of a boyfriend you were, how you never listened, how you bossed him around. You're done here," he finishes slowly, emphasizing the point, gesturing again towards the door. Harry almost smiles to himself, wondering if he could've been this forceful with Michael, if given the chance, if he ever could've told Michael to go fuck himself like this.  
  
"Really?" Liam says, laughing now. "I'm so shitty of a boyfriend that we were together for four years? _Four fucking years?_ Harry. Get a fucking grip, dude."  
  
Harry narrows his eyes again. He can't tell where this is going.  
  
"Here's a few little tips for handling Zayn, yeah? If you don't boss him around, or tell him what to do, he doesn't do anything. Ever. If you ask him to surprise you, or to in any way throw you something different, or new, he will fail. He will let you down. He only pushes when you ask him to, when you need a favor, an easy favor he can fix with his eyes closed. If you need him to lie for you, he's there in a fucking second, that's for sure."  
  
"Fuck you."  
  
"No, Harry. You're not hearing me. Everything he's said to you, has been bullshit. Zayn is a liar. He lies. I'm sure he told you I never remembered anything, that I forget it all. But he's a _liar_. He lies, and then he forgets his lies, and then gets mad when you don't remember the bullshit he's been spewing. I've heard about his favorite memory, or his favorite movie, or the best part of his day, about a million times and the answers always change. He can't even keep his _simple_ stories straight anymore."  
  
Harry feels himself deflate slightly, takes a step back.  
  
"I bet you've told him everything, right? Your biggest secret? Biggest fear? Has he told you one thing, even one?"  
  
"He told me his birthday," he says quietly, not sure why he feels the need to prove something to this asshole.  
  
"It's January 12th, Harry. I've never forgotten it," Liam says, staring him down. "I wasn't perfect. Neither of us were. We were fucking toxic. If we had moved in together, we'd be at each others' throats as we speak. But you don't stay together as a couple for four years, if it's a relationship made up of one shitty person, and one good one. That's not how it works."  
  
Harry can feel himself getting smaller, shrinking under Liam's gaze. He doesn't want him here anymore, he wants him to leave.  
  
"You'll never make him happy," he says just as strongly, not blinking. "He's incapable of telling the truth. Liars are never happy."  
  
Harry stares at him.  
  
"Did he tell you he fucked someone the day after we broke up? Like literally six hours after we cried in this living room, he had someone in his bed? Did he tell you that?"  
  
"Leave," Harry says, walking towards the door again, praying he finally fucking does. He doesn't want Liam here anymore.  
  
"Fine. Tell him I stopped by," he says walking towards the door, before turning back to look at him. "Actually, you should tell him everything I've told you just now. Oh, you should ask him about that day in the bookstore last week. Ask him if he knew I was going to be there, if he was waiting for me."  
  
Harry almost shoves him then, practically shoves him into the hallway. But Liam senses it, sees the itch in his body wanting to propel him forward. So he's almost out the door when he says it.  
  
"Ask him. Ask him if he knew I would be there, if he knew what he was doing, bringing you with him to show you off. I fucking dare you."  
  
And with that, he's gone.

  
  
***

  
Harry paces as he waits for Zayn to get back, getting angrier and angrier by the second. Fuck that guy, he's a prick. Zayn told him so, Zayn's face told him so, the second he saw Zayn see Liam in that bookstore. It wasn't right, he looked nervous, sad, anxious. He wasn't the cool Zayn he's seen lately, he was fucking nervous to see Liam again. He looked exactly how Harry felt when he saw Michael in the produce section.  
  
And fuck Liam, Zayn told him stuff, things about himself. He draws, he paints. He smokes. He hates whiskey! He told him how much he hates whiskey. He doesn't surf either!  
  
Liam can fuck off.  
  
Finally, after a fucking century, Zayn walks in the door with a paper bag in his hand, sunglasses on his face. Harry practically smacks against him as he hugs him forcefully.  
  
"Woah, what's going on, Haz?" Zayn says, chuckling lightly, hugging him back with his free arm.  
  
"You hate whiskey," he whispers into his shoulder, smiling.  
  
"I _do_ hate whiskey," Zayn says nervously, pulling back to see his face. "What's going on? You're sweating."  
  
"Liam was here."  
  
Zayn tenses and takes off his sunglasses, tossing them and the bag of food to the table. He looks murderous. He looks livid.  
  
"What the fuck did he want? What did he say to you?"  
  
"He's an asshole. I hate him," Harry says, taking his hand, trying to pull him to the couch.  
  
"No, what did he say? Tell me," Zayn says louder, shaking Harry off.  
  
"He just said a bunch of shit to make me mad, Zayn. It's fine. He said he wanted to talk to you, and then ran his mouth about you being a liar and how he did nothing wrong when you were together."  
  
Zayn curls his hands into fists and begins pacing, the same way Harry had been pacing, the same route across the living room, around the clothes and books. Harry hasn't seen him like this before.  
  
But it makes Harry wonder, as he sees Zayn's face, if what Liam said was partly true. Liars always know other liars, they can tell. Harry knew the second he spoke, the second his face split into a shit-eating grin to fool Liam, how good Zayn was. He's been good this whole time, every time he's needed to lie, he's done so, Harry by his side.  
  
"Zayn?"  
  
"What, Harry?" he says, still fuming.  
  
"Did you know Liam was going to be in the bookstore that day? Did you know he was going to come in?"  
  
Zayn turns to him and stares, the anger gone, his face now a blank slate. No emotion. He just looks at Harry.  
  
"So you did know. You knew he was going there," Harry says, hands falling to his sides, throat constricting. "You knew, but you pretended you didn't know, for my sake. To get me to lie for you. To get me to feel sorry for you, to go along with it. Right?"  
  
Zayn stares.  
  
"Say something."  
  
Zayn stares.

  
  
***

  
If they had both been paying attention, they would've realized it all started with a lie.  
  
They're both liars. It's what they do.

 

 

   


	4. Chapter 4

More often than not, half of what a person says, _at least_ half of all snotty, mean-spirited declarative sentences, are meant for the person expressing them. If someone tells you they dislike something about your personality, what they're actually saying is that they themselves possess the same quality and they absolutely hate it. They hate it so much, they have to go on record and say out loud how much they hate it. They just put someone else's name in front of it first, so they don't give away their own self loathing.  
  
Harry knows this because he really dislikes when people can't make up their minds. When he's in line getting coffee, he's the guy rolling his eyes at the person in front of him, staring at the menu for five whole minutes like it's hard, like they don't already know what they're going to get. He hates when people can't just pick a side, pick something, anything, to get it over with. He hates when people don't have a signature cocktail, a go-to, a fall back drink for when they need to take the edge off. He hates overly anxious people, drunk people, anyone who can't function on only a few hours of sleep. Any and all variations of those types of people drive Harry fucking crazy.  
  
It's no surprise then, Harry's penchant for indecisiveness. He doesn't get into sports because he can never pick a team to root for. He'll down anything you hand him so he doesn't have a signature drink, he doesn't need one. He's anxious, he drinks too much, and he's a cranky bitch when he's sleep deprived. But he _knows_ all of this about himself already, so don't waste your breath trying to tell him. He knows.  
  
So Harry's not surprised how angry he gets when Zayn gives him absolutely nothing in the living room that morning, when he doesn't assure Harry that Liam lied through his teeth, doesn't correct any of the thoughts running through his head, doesn't offer any explanation or statement to defend himself. He's not surprised he's angry because him and Zayn are so alike, it's almost creepy.  
  
Harry asks him repeatedly to say something, say anything, when he asks if Zayn knew Liam would be in the bookstore that day, if he knew all along what he was doing by roping Harry into their arrangement.  
  
Zayn does't say a word.  
  
Harry gets angry and wants to throw something at him, but he doesn't. After he paces for a few minutes, seething about Zayn being an asshole, he stops. He turns to look at Zayn and quickly realizes he can't blame him at all. He can't blame him for any of it. Because if it were reversed, if Harry could've had an upper hand with Michael, could've done something to make him hurt, he wouldn't even think about it. He would've absolutely roped the hot guy in the bookstore into helping him, if the guy was willing to go along with it.  
  
He can't blame Zayn for not wanting to tell him anything, because he never planned on telling a soul about the last night at Michael's. He was planning on taking it to the grave, had Zayn not been standing next to him when Michael came barreling at him near the onions.  
  
He can't blame Zayn because they're the same.  
  
Zayn told him, in declarative sentences, out loud, that Harry never needed to tell him anything. He didn't need Harry's secrets, didn't need anything other than the necessary info. He told him, a few times, that it's just an arrangement. That's all.  
  
Harry stares back at Zayn.  
  
He remembers what Zayn said, after Harry told him his biggest secret, his biggest fear. _Don't apologize for how you choose to make it through the fucking day. Sometimes we do whatever we fucking can, to get up in the morning and get over someone. You do whatever it takes to move on._ Zayn's just doing what he has to do, whatever he has to do, to move on, to get over the fucker who dumped him. He wasn't just saying it to Harry that night, he was saying it to himself as well. Harry can't judge him. He can't get mad at Zayn for being a liar. Harry's a liar too. And regardless of how they started, of the initial lie, he needed Harry once Liam invited him to the party. And he went further and helped Harry back, with his mom, with Michael, even when he didn't have to. He gets it.  
  
"I get it, Zayn."  
  
Zayn just stares back.  
  
"It's just an arrangement, right? We help each other. This is what we do. This is what we are," Harry says, robotic, hands at his side.  
  
"We don't owe each other anything," Zayn says finally, robotic, hands at his sides. "This is a mutual thing. We help each other."  
  
Harry gets it. They're the same.  
  
"If you need me for anything else, with Liam, or with _your_ family ever, call me."  
  
"I can be there for whatever weekends your mom wants us to visit the house."  
  
Harry grabs him for a hug and they both hold tight, faces in necks, hands grasping shirts and skin. They still need each other, they both still have something to prove to the people in their lives. It's an arrangement. They're not stupid.  
  
So you can at least take comfort in that, the lie that's been unraveled. They started with a lie, and now they're both aware of it. Everything that's followed, all the lies they've told since that day in the bookstore, they're both now aware of… for the most part.  
  
They lie for each other, they lie together, and for now, that's all it is.

  
  
***

  
Harry knew on the beach that night, when he told Zayn he can be lit on fire, how he burns, that Zayn will take whatever Harry gives him, but can't give anything back. That's what Harry thinks about that night when he gets home, as he lays in his bed, high as a kite, hands behind his head, going over how he ended up here.  
  
He thinks about how angry Zayn got when he found out Liam showed up to his apartment and told Harry about them, about who they were for four years. Zayn didn't say anything about it, didn't explain to Harry why he was upset, because he doesn't tell Harry anything. So Harry tries to fill in the holes himself, wonders about all of it. Maybe he was mad at Liam for not staying away, or maybe he was mad he missed him and it was Harry who was there. Maybe Liam just makes him mad in general, who knows.  
  
Harry reminds himself that Liam told _his_ side of the story, how those four years were for him, as someone who thought he had to "clean up messes" for Zayn. But Harry doesn't know how much of liar Liam is, if he learned from the best, so he forces himself to take it all with a grain of salt, take it as the ravings of a shitty ex boyfriend.  
  
He wonders if Zayn really did fuck someone six hours after they broke up, how he ended up with a stranger in his bed. Harry can't judge that either, since he fucked a dude from his dorm floor two days after he and Michael ended. He was a football player, a guy he barely knew, and he was so rough with Harry, he could barely walk the next morning. He can't judge Zayn, the person he barely knows, because they're the same.  
  
Before he falls asleep, he thinks it again, how alike the are, how much they still need each other. Regardless of how he may feel about Zayn, how much he wants to know Zayn better, more, at his core, they both still have a lot of shit to deal with first.  
  
It's fine.

  
  
***

  
For the next few weeks, Harry goes to class. He hangs out with various people in his building, people he lived next to in the dorms, friends who let him burn bright, who laugh at his stupid stories and make him strong drinks. He smokes with Bobby, the guy who sometimes sells him Xanax and Oxy when he's out, and they talk about the stupidest shit when they smoke, so it's actually pretty relaxing.  
  
He studies, he sleeps, he drinks, calls his mom every day just like he always does, texts Gemma when he remembers. They ask about Zayn, who always happens to be in class when they talk.  
  
Zayn texts him once, to ask how he is, which is nice of him. Harry says he's fine, that things are good, that he hopes Zayn is good too. Zayn says he's good, just trying to get through the rest of the semester. All things considered, it's a pretty good conversation, even though neither of them really say anything. Harry's accepted that's just how Zayn is. He doesn't tell Harry anything.  
  
Harry realizes, much to his dismay, that he can only jerk off to the thought of Zayn now. When he fists himself in the shower, he imagines Zayn's mouth on him, hears the sounds he made when he entered Harry the first time.  
  
When he fucks around with Adrian, the baseball player he met a few months ago, he has to close his eyes so he can pretend there's a thin, wiry kid with black hair behind him, instead of a tall, muscular kid with a stupid fucking Minnesota accent shoving his face into his mattress.  
  
But it's fine, because Harry lied to Adrian all those months ago and told him he had a girlfriend, a girlfriend who's sick and can't know the love of her life is fucking around behind her back, with a _guy_ , no less. Harry's learned in these types of situations, the lie has to not only make the person feel sorry for you, but also loathe you. It's a delicate balance, one he's pretty proud to be able to pull off. So Adrian believes him when he says he has to leave right after, to get home, looking at Harry with not only pity, but also disgust.  
  
Harry smiles as he shuts the door and walks down the stairs towards the street.

  
  
***

  
"Harry! How are things, babe?"  
  
"Things are good. Going good. Just classes," he says to his mom over the phone held awkwardly on his shoulder, while scrubbing a few dishes in his sink. "Thank god we only have about a month left in the semester. I'm getting antsy."  
  
"How's Zayn?" she says, ignoring him, asking what she really wants to ask.  
  
"He's great, he's in the living room right now, actually. He has a huge test tomorrow, so I made him dinner," he says, shutting off the sink.  
  
"Can I talk to him? I want to hear about his day," she says excitedly.  
  
"No, ma, he's busy. You can talk to him tomorrow," Harry says, annoyed now, making his way into his messy living room, grabbing his pipe from the coffee table. He tells her to hold on a second, while he sets the phone down and takes a quick hit, blowing the smoke out of the open window. He bought the last of his neighbor's weed, bless him, whatever the fuck his name is.  
  
He picks the phone back up, hears her excited voice, as she continues talking like he never even set it down.  
  
"…so this weekend?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"You said you'd come back and visit soon, you and Zayn. This weekend is a long one, right? No classes on Monday?"  
  
Harry smacks his forehead. He shouldn't promise her they'll come, not without asking Zayn first, but for all she knows, Zayn's in the fucking room.  
  
"Uh, yeah. That's right. We'll come Saturday morning," he winces, shaking his head.  
  
"Harry, I need to tell you, though… Michael and his wife moved back into the house across the street. The renters moved out, so…"  
  
"Yeah, whatever, it's fine. I don't care," he sighs, wanting the conversation to be over.  
  
After he gets off the phone with her, after she asks what Zayn's favorite food for dinner is and Harry tells her the first thing that pops into his head (fajitas), he sighs, settling onto the couch, and calls him.  
  
"Hey Haz," he answers after the first ring.  
  
"Hey," he says quietly, picking at the hole in the knee of his jeans. "What's up?"  
  
"Nothing, I have a test tomorrow, so just studying."  
  
"Oh, that's good."  
  
"What's going on?" he asks politely, nicely, cordially.  
  
"My mom wants us to come for the weekend. And I fucking told her you were here for the night. I couldn't exactly fake a conversation with an empty chair. So I told her we would go, but if you can't, or don't want to, I can cancel," he says in a rush.  
  
"No, it's fine. I can go, I'll be there."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Yes, Haz," he says with a small laugh. "I'll be at your apartment Saturday morning like last time."  
  
"Okay. Thanks."  
  
Once he hangs up, he lets his head drop onto the back of the couch. He vaguely wonders if he's pathetic, asking for Zayn to pretend to be into him, again. He wonders if this arrangement is awful, if they should stop, until he realizes it's sort of the best fucking thing that's ever happened to him. It's a lie, it's fake, whatever. He still gets to be in Zayn's presence, touch him, watch him see the world. He supposes it could be worse.

  
  
***

  
Zayn shows up on Saturday looking like he never left, wearing worn out jeans and a crisp white tshirt. Harry can almost make out his nipples through the fabric, can feel himself getting hot all of a sudden, so he forces himself to look away, to grab his bags.  
  
Once they're on the freeway, Zayn turns up the radio slightly, for background noise. He's wearing sunglasses and Harry so badly wants to rip them off, so he can see all of Zayn's face, so he can sneak glances as he drives.  
  
"Thanks for coming with me. I know you don't have to. I know whatever this is… is weird. But thanks."  
  
"Of course."  
  
"And like I said, whenever you need me, I'll be there for you too," he says, glancing over.  
  
"Thanks," Zayn frowns, looking down.  
  
They drive in silence for a good ten minutes, before Zayn breathes in and turns to him.  
  
"Liam's a fucking asshole. He really is, Harry. I'm sure he told you shit about me, and some of it was probably true. But I'm not a bad person. I don't do bad things, I don't hurt people on purpose. He hurts me on purpose all the time. He sees me trying to be happy with you, and he's trying to ruin it."  
  
Harry sits in stunned silence, not knowing how much Zayn's about to say. He keeps quiet.  
  
"I knew he was going to the bookstore that day. And yes, I had the thought that maybe if a hot guy happened to be there, I could play it up and ask the hand-holding favor. You were standing right there, looking so _fucking_ perfect, looking back at me, so I fucking lied and pretended to be nervous so you'd help me. But after that, literally right after I grabbed your hand, I got nervous. I was nervous to see Liam, nervous to fuck up the lie, nervous to be so close to you," he says, almost in one single breath, chest heaving. "But you were fantastic, you sold it. You sold us. Then you said you'd go to the party with me, and we fucking _burned_ , Harry. And now here we are."  
  
Harry doesn't say a word, not knowing how far he's going to go, how much he's going to reveal.  
  
But Zayn has stopped talking, instead looking out the window again, frown still on his face.  
  
"Did you really lie to him all the time? Even about stupid shit?" Harry sighs out, honestly because he's just fucking curious at this point.  
  
"Why do _you_ lie, Harry?" Zayn practically hisses, turning to glare at him.  
  
Harry just nods. Because, well… fair enough.  
  
Harry continues to drive, heading towards the beach and the old rickety house right on the sand. They arrive on his block, when he looks to his right, to see Michael's house. Zayn sees him looking, sees his cheeks redden. He gets it. Harry just sighs.  
  
"Michael and his wife moved back into the house, so… Yeah."  
  
"Okay," Zayn just nods.  
  
They pull into the driveway and are just about to get out of the car, when it hits him. Harry's so sick of lying about stupid shit, about the little things, he feels like it bursts out of him, as he turns to Zayn.  
  
"I'm really messy," Harry blurts out. "Like, my place is a mess. All the time. When you saw it and said how clean it was, I lied and said I keep my place neat. I don't even know why I said it. But I'm a fucking slob."  
  
Zayn smiles at him, a big smile, bordering on a laugh.  
  
"I really do hate whiskey. My grandpa became a dick whenever he drank it," Zayn eventually says, looking Harry directly in the eye, as his smile turns into a serious look.  
  
Alright so it's something he's already told Harry, something he's already let out about himself, but Harry knows he's still working on it, knows how much he just told him during their drive.  
  
It's a start.

  
  
***

  
It's like they never stopped the lie, never stopped being a team, volleying back and forth. Because they throw their bags over their shoulders and their hands find each other without even consulting them first. They walk in the front door holding hands tightly, greeting Anne by the staircase. Zayn graciously offers to take their stuff up to Harry's room, as Harry follows his mom to the kitchen. They grab three beers and head to the back porch to get some sun.  
  
Zayn joins them, sitting with Harry on a lounge chair, kissing his cheek when Harry hands him his beer.  
  
It's the closest they've been in weeks, Harry realizes, as Zayn settles next to him, fingers tickling his palm before holding it. Harry allows himself to have it, while he can, so he closes his eyes and puts his face into Zayn's chest, smelling him, his cologne, his soap, the cigarette smoke in the fabric. Zayn pulls his chin up and places one, sweet kiss on his mouth, lingering with it, before turning to Anne to ask how she's been.  
  
It's the first kiss they've had in weeks, too. But Zayn is good, he knows for Anne's sake, the kiss had to be as normal as the kiss they probably would've had five minutes before they walked in the door, as if they kissed every five minutes of every day.  
  
Harry licks his lips, chasing the taste of it.

  
  
***

  
Gemma comes for dinner, walking in right as Robin gets home. They both give Zayn big hugs. Gemma even kisses his cheek. Apparently she's accepted that Zayn is sticking around. Harry thinks to himself, as he pours a second glass of wine, that at this point, even if the arrangement ends or they go their separate ways, he'll probably let his family think Zayn's still with him, for as long as he possibly can. It's a depressing thought.  
  
Anne made dinner, the fajitas Harry mentioned, while Harry and Zayn took a quick nap on the couches in the living room, so Harry doesn't notice Zayn's face to his left, until he sees Zayn look down at the massive plates of food in front of them.  
  
He looks like he's about to throw up, or at the very least, cringe. Harry narrows his eyes and nudges his foot under the table, trying to silently ask what's wrong, but Anne cuts in.  
  
"Zayn, Harry told me fajitas were your favorite," she says with a big smile, as they all start to serve themselves.  
  
It's wrong, Harry can tell. Zayn must hate fajitas, must hate something in the food, because he looks absolutely revolted at the thought of eating anything on his plate. But Zayn is good, he's the best, and the look is quickly wiped off his face, breaking into a grin, as he starts to grab his fork. He's going to lie, he's going to let Anne have this, for Harry.

It hits him like a truck, that when Zayn lies about the little things, he does it for other peoples' sake, and he fucking hates Liam all over again.

"No," Harry practically yells, right as Zayn's fork almost reaches his mouth.  
  
Everyone stops to stare at him, silent.  
  
"I thought you asked what I wanted for dinner, I thought that's what you asked," he says in a rush, to Anne, apologizing with his eyes. "Zayn hates fajitas. I'm really sorry."  
  
"No, no I don't. I like fajitas," Zayn looks at him, angry, before turning back to smile at Anne, repeating himself. "I like fajitas."  
  
"No, he doesn't. He's trying to be polite. We should make something else," Harry says sternly, turning to Zayn.  
  
"Harry," Zayn's voice comes out, low, gruff. "Don't be rude."  
  
"It's okay, Zayn. Harry clearly wasn't listening when I asked what _you'd_ like for dinner," Anne says with a smile, rolling her eyes to her family. "I have some pasta in the fridge, I can heat it up for you. Do you like pasta?"  
  
Zayn kicks Harry under the table, Harry kicks him back. Gemma looks at them like they're losing their minds.  
  
"Uh, yes. I love pasta. Sorry for being the worst," he says, gesturing towards his food, embarrassed.  
  
"Oh please, no harm done," Anne says, rushing to make Zayn's food, grabbing the untouched plate away from him as she goes.  
  
The rest of them get their plates ready, Harry purposefully not looking at Zayn, until Anne sets a heaping plate of piping hot fettuccine alfredo in front of him. Harry knows his face by now, knows that he's angry at Harry for making it weird, but he also sees a tinge of gratitude there as well.  
  
Robin turns to Gemma, is about to make polite conversation, when Harry cuts him off.  
  
"Tell mom your favorite food, Zayn. For next time. So she knows," Harry says, eyes set on Zayn, not moving.  
  
Harry's family feel the weird energy, exchanging glances, as Zayn looks back at Harry, incredulously.  
  
Harry lies about a lot of shit. He lies all the time. But he's sick of lying about the small stuff, the insignificant things that don't even matter. Zayn shouldn't have to eat food he doesn't like, shouldn't have to lie about dumb shit for Harry's sake, to cover Harry's ass. He wants to be honest, especially after Zayn's truthful outburst in the car. He wants Zayn to tell him every truth he holds in his body. He wants to know what Zayn likes, what he loves, what he orders when he eats out on a date. He wants to know his favorite fucking food, okay? The truth.  
  
Anne is a saint and saves them.  
  
"Yes, please Zayn. What's your favorite thing to eat? I'll make it next time," she says with a warm smile, leaning forward in her chair, grabbing Harry's arm for a second.  
  
Zayn gets it then, understands that Harry wants something small, something stupid, anything, from him. He's fucking begging for it.  
  
"I love anything with chicken," he says to Anne, before turning to Harry, his face serious. "I like chicken. Fried chicken, baked chicken, chicken fingers even. My mom makes a chicken korma that would blow your mind. So yeah… I really like chicken."  
  
Harry grabs Zayn's hand under the table and holds on for dear life, squeezing his fingers. Zayn squeezes back, smiling.  
  
The rest of their dinner is very pleasant, if you must know. The weird energy is gone and Zayn eats the entire plate of pasta.

  
  
***

  
It's late when they get into bed, after drinking wine and beer on the porch with his family all evening. Harry feels sluggish, like he weighs a thousand pounds, his head feels heavy. He feels warm, drunk from red wine. Zayn looks like he's in the same boat, after drinking beer for beer with Robin, throwing himself onto the blankets in only his briefs as Harry crawls under the sheets.  
  
They don't touch, or hold hands. They just lay side by side, eyes drooping, exhausted. Spent.  
  
"Hey Haz?"  
  
"Yeah," Harry sighs out.  
  
"I fucking hate peppers. I hate the taste, the smell, the texture. I hate them. Like, the thought of eating green or red peppers, or those gross yellow ones, makes me absolutely nauseous," he says, a smile creeping onto his face. Even with his eyes closed, Harry senses the smile in his voice.  
  
"Then fajitas were literally the worst thing I could've told my mom to make," Harry practically yells, as he laughs until he cries.  
  
Zayn laughs so hard, he has to wipe the tears away with the pillow.  
  
They fall asleep soon after with red cheeks and smiles on their faces.

  
  
***

  
Harry wakes up hot. He feels like he's been laying in the sun for hours, his skin searing. He tries to rub the sleep out of his eyes and roll over, but Zayn's right behind him, so he only makes it onto his back. Harry finally focuses his eyes and looks around. It has to be at least noon, the heat beating in through the open window, Zayn The Furnance against his back not helping matters.  
  
"It's hot," Zayn huffs out, breath against his shoulder.  
  
"C'mon, move over. It's too hot," Harry says, voice groggy, pushing at Zayn's bare chest.  
  
He rolls away and Harry can't help but smile. They slept against each other all night, close, Zayn's body so close, they woke up burning.  
  
Harry takes a quick shower before going into the kitchen. Anne's at the table reading the paper, cup of tea in front of her. She looks rested, content, hair only a tad messy like she lets it get on Sunday mornings. He kisses her head, before pouring himself coffee.  
  
"Why didn't you wake us up? It's late."  
  
"I was going to, but you both looked like you needed the rest. I couldn't wake you," she smiles, resting her head against the back of her chair, looking at him.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I love how good you are, Hazza. You're doing so good. You're here, and you have Zayn, and you saw Michael a few weeks ago and didn't get upset. You're here," she says, tears in her eyes now.  
  
He smiles at her, before looking out the open back door towards the ocean. This is what it's all for, he thinks, why they're still doing this. He wants his mom to be happy, even if he's not totally there yet.  
  
Just then Zayn walks into the kitchen, eyes half closed, in shorts and a backwards tshirt. He huffs out a breath, sitting in the chair next to Harry, leaning his forehead against his shoulder.  
  
"Zayn sleeps. He's a big sleeper," Harry says into his hair, as Anne laughs.  
  
"I hate how bright it is," Zayn huffs again, against Harry's skin.  
  
"I know, babe. But go shower. You stink."  
  
" _You_ stink."  
  
Harry laughs, big and bright, head thrown back. Zayn laughs into his shoulder, as Anne gets up to walk to the sink, smiling to herself.  
  
"I heard her say how good you are," Zayn whispers in his ear. "I'm glad. I'm glad this is still working."  
  
"Thanks for all of it," he whispers back.  
  
Harry brings his head back up, to stop whispering, speaking in a loud voice again, as Anne walks back towards him.  
  
"I was serious before. You stink, Zayn."  
  
Zayn surges forward and bites at the delicate skin of Harry's neck, hard. Harry yelps in pain as Zayn walks towards the stairs, laughing his head off. He laughs the whole way up the stairs, and all the way into the bathroom.

  
  
***

  
Gemma spends the day with them on the beach and then goes with them to a late afternoon movie at the small theater a few blocks away. Harry remembers Zayn saying he liked action movies, but also romance movies, so Harry informs him they're going to see one he read has a good mixture of both. Zayn rolls his eyes at that, but holds his hand anyways.  
  
Gemma watches them all day, with a smile on her face.  
  
She tells them about a bar down the street, a newer bar that just opened up that plays great music. She tells them they should go have drinks there, get out of the house for the night. Harry figures they might as well, so they head over after the pepper-less dinner Anne and Robin make.  
  
They each had a few drinks with dinner, so when they walk in to the crowded bar, they're already well on their way to a fantastic night. Harry keeps hold of Zayn as they maneuver around people, as a few people look at them. Harry recognizes a few people, random neighbors he hugs as they head to the bar. People stare at Zayn because he's fucking beautiful, and Harry feels a surge of pride, getting to be the person with his hands on his waist.  
  
As the night wears on, after they have more drinks and cling to each other laughing at stupid shit around them, the music gets louder and more people start dancing. It's a mess of hot bodies and sweaty surfers, the salt stuck on their skin, the alcohol flowing, as everyone happily bounces off one another.  
  
Harry wants to kiss Zayn, wants to run his tongue along his lip just how he likes, taste the vodka on his breath, taste the weed again, taste the joint they shared earlier on the walk over. Zayn stares at him as the song changes, looks to Harry's lips, and they both know they want it.  
  
Zayn's about to lean in, grabbing at Harry's hips, when he feels Harry turn to stone against him. Harry looks at the door and can't believe his fucking luck. Michael walks in, drunk, with a few guys Harry recognizes as his work friends, guys Harry used to see at the house some mornings when he snuck out, holding his shoes like a fucking mistress so no one would see him.  
  
Michael sees him then, sees Harry with Zayn against the bar, and he stills. He shows no emotion at seeing Harry again, in a social situation, when the last time they saw each other was when he was holding his fucking kid, and the time before that being over a year ago when he shoved Harry away from him so hard, Harry had bruises on his chest the next day.  
  
Zayn turns his head and sees Michael staring at Harry. Their eyes are locked, neither is looking away. Zayn must sense it's about to spin out of control, so he tugs Harry's body closer, forces Harry to tear his eyes away, to look at him.  
  
"I got you, Haz. I got you, okay?" he says fiercely, not even a inch from Harry's face.  
  
"Okay," Harry says back, still dazed, feeling like the produce section all over again.  
  
"You wanna make it look good? Let's make it look good," Zayn says against his mouth, breathing, panting already.  
  
"Okay," Harry finishes, moving forward that inch, kissing Zayn like it's the last thing he'll ever fucking do.  
  
Zayn runs his hands through Harry's messy hair, as he bites his bottom lip, running his tongue over it. An intense song plays then, something about songs knowing what you do in the dark, which is oddly appropriate, as Zayn shifts his thigh between Harry's right there at the bar, riling him up, pulling at the hair by his ears. None of the drunk people around them notice or care, as they move and dance.  
  
But Harry can still feel Michael's eyes on him, from somewhere towards the back of the bar, and he wants to take this feeling, this night, and put it into a syringe, so he can shoot it into his veins. He wants to shower in it, lather in it, eat it, fuck it, it feels so good.  
  
"Do you trust me?" Zayn says, pulling his face back, looking totally fucked out already.  
  
"Yeah," Harry pants out, really meaning it this time.  
  
Zayn shifts his eyes slightly to the left, gesturing to a booth. Harry looks over and sees Michael and his friends in the corner, back in the corner by the hall to the bathroom. Michael's looking away at the moment, so Harry brings his eyes back to Zayn so they don't get caught peeking.  
  
"Don't look at him as we walk, okay? Don't let him know we see him," Zayn says with a wicked smile, before turning and tugging Harry's hand.  
  
Harry smiles wide, excited to be able to throw this at him, once and for all, as he lets himself be led to the bathroom. He adds a little extra, as they walk near Michael's booth, grabbing Zayn's ass, before pulling Zayn against his chest. Zayn laughs and swats at him, pulling his hand harder.  
  
They run down the short hallway, crowding into the one-stall bathroom, locking the door behind them. Zayn shoves Harry against the back of the door, attacking his lips again. He kisses him dirty, messy, biting his lip. Harry's dick aches, so he reaches a hand down to hold himself in his jeans, as Zayn tugs his hair.  
  
"He might be in the hall right now, Hazza," Zayn whispers into his ear, slapping Harry's hand away from the front of his jeans, grabbing him in his palm as Harry yelps. "He might be on the other side of this door, listening, trying to hear if I'm fucking you in here."  
  
" _Jesus Christ,_ " Harry whines, as Zayn licks his neck and undoes his belt for him.  
  
"You want me to fuck you? I can fuck you right here against the sink, let him hear, yeah?"  
  
"Yeah," Harry nods furiously, head bobbing up and down so hard, his neck hurts.  
  
Zayn grabs him and shoves him towards the opposite wall. Harry holds either side of the sink as Zayn reaches around him and unzips his tight jeans, tugging them and his briefs down to his knees.  
  
"Spread your legs as best as you can. Bend over," Zayn growls.  
  
Harry does as he's told, head hanging in front of him, watching as Zayn reaches around to touch him, to jerk him in his hand a few times. Harry looks up into the mirror, listens as Zayn gets the condom and small packet of lube out of his wallet.  
  
His head spins as he waits, until Zayn's slick finger makes its way in him, making him gasp and grip the sink harder.  
  
"This has to be quick, Harry. We don't have a lot of time. No time, okay?"  
  
"Okay," Harry whines out, eyes closed, as Zayn works him open, stretches him as fast as he can. He adds his second finger, twists them, and Harry's knees buckle. Zayn has to grasp him around the waist and hold him up until his legs work again.  
  
"Can you take me yet? We don't have all night, Harry," Zayn growls into his ear.  
  
"I'm good, I'm good, come on," Harry says leaning forward further, cheek against the mirror.  
  
"You like when I fuck you?" Zayn says, finally entering him.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Did you miss me?"  
  
"Yeah," Harry whines, as Zayn bottoms out and stills for a second, to let him get used to him.  
  
Zayn let's him feel him for only a few seconds, that's all he gives him, before he pulls almost all the way out and shoves back in. He has one hand on Harry's hip, one hand against the mirror by Harry's face. Harry realizes Zayn's banging against the mirror with his palm, in time with his movements, and Harry almost laughs right there. He gets it.  
  
Harry groans loudly, practically yells it, as Zayn moves them, hitting that spot inside him that makes his knees nearly buckle again. He groans, he spits out _fuck_ over and over. They're sweating, they're loud, they can't stop.  
  
"I'm gonna come, I'm gonna come, you first," Zayn huffs out, picking up rhythm, as Harry grabs his cock in his hand, jerking himself.  
  
"Did you miss _me_ , Zayn?" Harry says loudly, pushing back against Zayn, twisting his wrist, coming over his fingers.  
  
" _Fuck,_ " Zayn groans then, as Harry clenches around him. He spills into the condom, shuddering against Harry's back.  
  
Harry's breath steams up the mirror, so Zayn doesn't see his smile against it.

  
  
***

  
A few minutes later, they make their way awkwardly out of the bathroom, smoothing their shirts, fixing their hair. They turn into the hallway to head back to the bar, when they see the back of a guy moving ahead of them. Michael hurries back into the crowd, trying to hide from them. He heard it all.  
  
Zayn turns to look at Harry as they walk back towards the music, grins like the devil himself taught him how, as he grabs Harry's hand.  
  
They go to the bar and order shots, celebrating, laughing, sweating with the other sweaty people at the bar. A new song comes on, a song Harry would pull Zayn out to dance to, if Zayn didn't hate it.  
  
He allows himself one look towards Michael, one quick look, just to see his face. He wants Michael to see him, to see how smug he is. And right on cue, he does. They lock eyes and Harry takes in his blank face, the blank expression he can't seem to wipe off. Harry sees his strong, stubbled jaw jump, as he grinds his teeth, pissed, furious, fucking livid.  
  
Harry can't even stop himself. He can't stop the smile from creeping onto his face, before he finally turns back to look at Zayn.  
  
Zayn's laughing with the bartender, as he grabs their shots to slide one to Harry. Harry crowds behind him, grabs Zayn's hips and holds him close, face in his neck.  
  
Harry fucking loves winning.

  
  
***

  
  
They sleep like a couple of dead people that night, after stumbling back to the house when the bar closed, well after Michael and his friends left. Harry so badly wanted to look at him again, smile as he caved and left first, but he forced himself to look at Zayn. He didn't want Michael to get the satisfaction of him caring any further than one look, one wicked smile.  
  
Anne doesn't make a huge breakfast the next morning, just some toast, which their hungover stomachs are grateful for.  
  
They cling to each other as they say goodbye to Harry's family, they swing their arms as they walk to the car, they squeeze each others' fingers as Harry starts the engine, and Harry holds Zayn's hand against his lips until they hit the freeway.  
  
Once they're on the road, they stop touching. Zayn doesn't do it to be a dick, and Harry gets it, but they're alone again, away from Santa Monica, away from the house, so Zayn slowly tugs his hand back into his lap. They sit in their separate seats. They separate.  
  
They drive back towards campus, letting a random country radio station fill the air instead of conversation.  
  
Harry pulls up outside of his apartment, next to Zayn's car, and neither know what to do. Their weekend is over, they're back to normal. Harry wonders if normal for them has to be like this, completely separate and apart, when they don't need to pretend. He wonders if it's easier this way, to not talk when they're not "on." But he doesn't fucking care, he can't have this kind of weekend, and then not see him afterwards. He just can't.  
  
Harry is just about to suggest that Zayn come over to hang out this week, no agenda, no lies, no pretending. Just to sit, watch a movie or something.  
  
But Zayn speaks first.  
  
"So, I have a favor to ask you," he says nervously, reaching into the backseat for his bag.  
  
"Anything," Harry rushes out.  
  
"Ruth invited me to the wedding. It's in a month, after finals, at that golf course we've driven past before, the one near the 5."  
  
Harry just looks at him. He knows what he's asking, but he wants to hear it.  
  
"So will you go with me? Can we do this for the wedding, and the reception after? It was nice of Ruth to ask me, to want me there, even after all of it," he says, finally looking at Harry's face.  
  
"Yeah, Zayn. We can do this."  
  
"Thank you, Haz," he smiles, with an exhale, relieved. He must've thought Harry would say no. Maybe he felt it too, that it was getting too heavy, too heavy to hold. Maybe he could tell their arrangement was becoming murkier, and thought Harry would pull away.  
  
Or maybe he wasn't thinking that at all and was relieved that Harry let it be, agreed to keep the arrangement as it is. Because he steps out of the car and looks at Harry through the open window.  
  
"So I'll see you in four weeks then. I'll text you a few days before to remind you, sound good?"  
  
Harry stares at him.  
  
"Yeah, sounds good."  
  
"Bye, Haz. Talk to you later."  
  
Zayn gives a small wave before getting into his car. Harry watches him drive off from his driver's seat. The weekend flashes before his eyes, their conversation in the car when Zayn let it all out, their kiss on the porch, the bite mark on Harry's neck, the bathroom at the bar. They couldn't stop touching once they started. They burned together.

He doesn't move for a long time.

  
  
***

  
Harry will go to his grave claiming the world is an unfair and unjust place. Nothing can ever go his fucking way, he swears it.  
   
Because a few hours later, after he's showered, washed Zayn's scent from his hair, after he's taken a Valium to shut his brain off, to forget the weekend for a while, as he walks to his couch in his favorite sweat pants, there's a knock at the door.  
  
He's slow as molasses at this point, so it takes him a second to reach the door, and a few more seconds to process the fact that Michael is standing on the other side of it, all scruffy jaw and wide shoulders.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes, am I right?


	5. Chapter 5

There's always a moment when a bad person _realizes_ they're a bad person. Sometimes it takes an incident, sometimes it takes years. But when smart, self aware people know they're despicable, they always figure it out eventually. It's not like bad people, people who end up being murderers and thieves, go their entire lives murdering and thieving. They probably had normal days, normal lives, before they became bad people, before they realized it. It all starts one day, a moment, maybe when it occurs to them out of nowhere, maybe when they get caught, or when it just becomes too overwhelming.  
  
But it always happens. Bad people do terrible things and then eventually the truth knocks them over the head, when they realize they're fucking awful. Bad people, for the most part, know when they're bad. Eventually. Usually.  
  
Harry realizes it that night, how awful he is, deep down, in his soul. It finally smacks him across the face that he's not good, that his heart is blackened. He's lied on a daily basis for as long as he can remember, sometimes in self preservation, sometimes just for fun, sometimes for no reason at all. He never let it ruin him. He figured if that was the worst thing he could say about himself, that he enjoyed white lies, then nothing could ever really be that bad. He wasn't murdering or thieving, you know?  
  
But he realizes as Michael slams into him that night, pulling his head back by his hair, slapping his ass, hard, in anger, that he's not a good person. He realizes good people don't do what he's doing. It's like an out-of-body experience, like he's floating above himself, watching it unfold.  
  
It's like he watches himself, high as a kite, get absolutely wrecked by a man nearing thirty, a married man with a sweet baby at home, a man who a year ago hurt him so badly, so internally, that he could barely look in the mirror these days. He imagines himself floating in the air, watching his own face, seeing how the muscles around his eyes won't allow him to keep them open. He wonders if the waves of pleasure are showing on his face or not, or if the emotion bubbling in his chest is showing through instead, the hatred, the pain, the sadness, as he mourns the good person he thought he was.  
  
Zayn told him in the car, that maybe he lies to get through the day, maybe he lied to get back at Liam in the bookstore, but he's not a bad person and he doesn't hurt anyone on purpose. Harry absolutely believes that, believes that Zayn is good, kind, better than him in every way.  
  
Because Harry knows, as Michael flips him onto his back, looking down at him and grabbing his cock, stroking him the way he knows Harry likes, that what he's doing is hurtful, and he's aware of it. He's hurting himself, he's hurting Michael's family. He knows it and yet he still finishes in Michael's hand, across his stomach, tensing up with a final cry.  
  
When Harry finally drifts back down, comes down from the high of the pills, the high of his orgasm, he lays there and feels empty.  
  
He's a bad person. He does bad things, knowingly. He inflicts pain on purpose.  
  
It feels a lot like he's losing.

  
  
***

  
They don't even talk until they're sitting on Harry's little patio off the living room, high above the street, smoking cigarettes to have something to do with their hands. Michael won't stop staring at Harry, which Harry ignores. He looks away, looks at the night sky, listens to the sounds of the city.  
  
Finally Harry speaks, fed up.  
  
"Why are you even here?" he says, voice dead.  
  
"I missed you," Michael says on a resigned exhale, still staring at him. "I saw you with that guy and lost my fucking mind. I heard it, I was outside the door and heard it. I fucking lost it, Harry. I've _lost_ it."  
  
Harry just takes another drag as the wind whips across his bare chest, sending a shiver down his spine.  
  
"You can't lie to me, Harry. You wanted me to see you, you wanted me to hear. You fucking wanted it. Are you even surprised I'm here?" he says angrily.  
  
Harry still doesn't speak. He lights another cigarette.  
  
"You let me in. You opened the door. You want me," he says, even angrier.  
  
"You have a kid, Michael. You have a fucking family. I don't want you, I don't want to be _this_ ," he says, pissed, gesturing to the air between them. "You think I want you here, fucking me in my bed like old times, like we used to when it was a secret? Like we used to when you fucked other people?"  
  
Michael stares at him.  
  
"I don't want you at all. I fucking hate you. You make me _sick_ to even look at," Harry says, still facing away from him. "But here we are. We're here. I let you in again because I'm a terrible fucking person. And I can't have what I actually want, so. I am awful. I'm bad."  
  
"So am I."  
  
"Oh I know you are," Harry says, finally turning to stare at him. "You're the worst person I've ever fucking met, Michael. I hate you."  
  
"I know," he says, looking at his feet.  
  
"You lied to me for months. You lied about all of it. But I lie too, you know? I lie all the time," he hisses, putting out his cigarette in the ash tray, and turning his entire body towards him. "But know this, and know it's the absolute, god's honest truth: _I hate you._ I loathe you. I want to punish you for all of it."  
  
"I know."  
  
"But I'm sure you'll be back here eventually, and we'll be back in my bed soon enough, so. You can go," he finishes lamely, shrugging his shoulders, giving up.  
  
Harry knows himself. He knows the pull Michael has over him, the pull he's had since he was fourteen fucking years old, since he left fingerprints on a window while he stared at him. He also knows he's lonely and tired of all of it, tired of thinking of Zayn, thinking about the lies piling up around him, burying him alive.  
  
Zayn let go of his hand in the car. He was relieved when Harry agreed to go to the wedding, to keep the arrangement as is, to separate for a month like nothing happened. He won't see Zayn for four weeks. And he needs it, needs something, needs to forget.  
  
He's accepted how terrible of a person he is, that he's no good, that he's bad. It's done, it is what it is. He's the kid who fucks people and lies about it. So he'll fuck Michael and try to hate himself even more. He deserves it.  
  
He can hate-fuck Michael. Might as well.  
  
Who even fucking cares anymore.  
  
Harry gets up and walks back inside, heading into the bathroom to take his second shower of the day, to wash off a second person's scent. He hears the front door open and close. And as he stands under the hot stream of water a minute later, he doesn't cry.  
  
He doesn't cry after his shower, or when he gets in bed, or when he wakes up the next morning.  
  
He feels empty.

  
  
***

  
So there you have it, that's how they come back together again. Every other day, for the next three weeks, Michael shows up at Harry's door and they tear into each other like they used to. Neither of them are thrilled about it, or are even particularly happy to see the other whenever Michael steps into Harry's living room, but they do it anyways. They're both aching for it, both aching to fill something, some void.

Harry's void is the huge Zayn-shaped hole in his life, so.  
  
They know each others' bodies so well, so thoroughly, it never lasts long. They don't prolong it or make it mean anything. Michael still doesn't pay attention to Harry's skin, doesn't kiss him for longer than he has to. Harry bites him only slightly, because he wants to leave marks, but he can't. He can't because he won't let Michael's daughter see them. He rarely thinks about his moral code these days, but apparently there are some things he won't do, which is refreshing.  
  
The only thing that Harry enjoys about it, the thing that causes him to answer the door every other night, is that this time, he has Michael. They don't do anything on Michael's terms, when Michael can, _if_ he can. No, it's all up to Harry. Michael comes to him, comes begging at his door, when it's convenient for Harry, if he has time. He doesn't give a shit what Michael tells his wife, what his excuses are, how he finds the time to drive all the way to see him every other day, and frankly, he doesn't care. He lets him in the door, let's him fuck him on his bed, on the couch, in the shower, over and over. But Harry's in charge. He's in control. He's winning.  
  
Harry talks to his mom every day, and every day he creates new and interesting ways to tell her Zayn's not around or can't talk to her. He's either in class, or painting at home, or sleeping like a dead person. He uses every excuse he can think of, honestly. He knows Anne can tell something's off, but she doesn't say anything.  
  
He goes to class, he studies, he sleeps, he drinks. Bobby comes over a few times and they get high. Bobby's gotten really into Buddhism lately, he's been reading so many books to enlighten his thoughts. Harry listens, enraptured, as Bobby tells him all about finding himself. Harry's eyelids move at a glacial pace, as he blinks and listens to every word, as Bobby explains his beliefs to him. Harry wishes he could find himself. He wonders what that would be like.  
  
The week before finals, Harry's itching to see Zayn, to touch him, to be near him. He's itching for it so bad, that when his mom calls and asks if the two of them want to stay at the house for the weekend, get away from campus and study at home, he says yes before she can even finish the question.  
  
After he hangs up, he looks down at the screen. Zayn told him they'd see each other at the wedding, but Harry can't wait any longer. It's earlier than they planned to meet up again, to do this thing they do, but he can't stop his fingers from flying across his phone.  
  
 _Harry: My mom asked if we'd go home for the weekend. Said we could get away to study. Please?_  
  
 _Zayn: I'll be there Saturday morning._  
  
 _Harry: Thanks._  
  
 _Zayn: Of course._

  
  
***

  
The drive to Santa Monica is a quiet one, each of them blankly looking out the windows. Zayn plays music from his phone through the speakers, turns it up loud, blasting it through the open windows. Harry wants to rip the sunglasses off his face so he can look at him, but again, he doesn't.  
  
Gemma is in the front yard, grabbing random boxes out of the backseat of her car, as they pull up. Zayn swiftly reaches over to hold Harry's hand, as he waves with his right arm, calling out to her. Harry literally exhales when they touch. He's been itching to do it since Zayn got into his car, the second he sat next to him.  
  
Anne and Robin come out then, to help Gem, to greet Harry and Zayn with hugs. They slip back into their routine, the act they've perfected to an art form. Zayn rolls his eyes along with Anne when she complains about never getting to talk to him when she calls, saying that yes, he's busy, but Harry's dramatic. He'll tell her all about his day, next time she calls, he promises. Harry gets mad then, mad that he's making a promise he can't keep, and the look he gives Zayn as they walk inside tells him so.  
  
Zayn just holds his hand tighter and kisses him on the cheek.  
  
They each spread out books and papers on the table, to study all afternoon, while Anne bakes in the kitchen. Harry has a headache, and every time Zayn gets up to grab them more water, or to chat with Anne during a break, he comes back to the table and rubs Harry's shoulders, or kisses him deeply, or touches Harry's arm. He keeps touching and touching, kissing, smiling, and Harry feels himself shriveling. Shrinking. Zayn can read him, can tell something's off, but he doesn't say anything.  
  
Dinner that night goes great, as Gemma tells them all about her graduate classes and the people she's been hanging out with. She's so smart, so articulate, and Harry's fascinated all over again at how accomplished she'll end up being. He's grateful his parents have her, a child to be proud of. Robin asks Zayn how classes have been for him, how his semester is going to end up, and Zayn smiles as he says how good it's been.  
  
Somehow Gemma brings up a recent date she went on, with a guy who is studying to be a teacher, and they all laugh at how ironic it would be, if she and Harry both dated teachers. Zayn grabs Harry's arm and launches into a story about his child psychology class, and some of the things he's learned, the things he's brought home and told Harry about, things that had them both scared of kids for weeks afterwards.  
  
He tells the story perfectly, comes up with a lie so gracefully, a fully formed lie that makes them sound domestic, and cute, and so fucking in love, Harry feels like his heart is about to break into pieces right there in his chest.  
  
His face must have fallen. He must give it away, how fucking sad he is. Because as Robin stands up to grab the empty plates, Zayn moves his chair closer to Harry's, to kiss his cheek.  
  
"You good?" he says, not even in a whisper.  
  
Gemma and Anne aren't paying attention, as they sit and laugh with their wine, but they're right there, right next to them.  
  
Harry just sits for a moment, as he silently wishes they could have real stories, real nights where they make each other laugh about their classes. He aches for Zayn so much, so hard, even now when they're in the same room. Even when Zayn's here, when Zayn touches him, Harry misses him.  
  
"I'm fine, babe. I'm just tired," he says, turning to face him.  
  
Zayn holds his hands tighter, pulling them closer, kisses him.  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
"I've missed you," Harry whispers into his mouth, as his chin trembles for the first time in weeks.  
  
"I'm right here," Zayn whispers back, kissing him, pulling him into a hug.  
  
Harry closes his eyes and lets Zayn rub his back. He distinctly hears Gemma retch, and his mom smack her, as she chuckles. Anne is so happy, so giddy for them, so Harry pulls Zayn closer, to make it look good.

  
  
***

  
After everyone's gone to sleep, after they studied for a few more hours, Harry leads Zayn out to the front steps. They sit in their shorts and thin tshirts on the steps, smoking cigarette after cigarette, to calm their nerves, to calm whatever has been sitting between them all day.  
  
Harry can't stop staring at Michael's door, across the street and over a few houses. The lights are still on. Maybe they put the baby to bed earlier and are spending the rest of the night together, watching TV, eating ice cream, fucking because they're married and married people do that.  
  
"What are you thinking about?" Zayn says quietly, blowing out smoke.  
  
"Michael."  
  
"I wish you wouldn't," he says, still quiet, flicking the ash to the ground.  
  
"Why?" Harry says surprised, turning to look at him.  
  
"It doesn't do you any good to think about him, Hazza. He's a bad person, he's bad for you. Your life is better without him, you know? Like with me and Liam. I'm better without him, I think. So I try not to think about him, you know?"  
  
Harry stares at him, can't even blink, as he looks at the perfect fucking face next to his.  
  
"I've been fucking Michael for the last three weeks," he says, emotionless, turning away to look at Michael's house again, taking a drag. "He showed up at my apartment. It started again."  
  
"What?" Zayn stills next to him, angry.  
  
"Yeah, so. Whatever. That's a thing I'm doing again. I don't even care anymore," Harry shrugs.  
  
"That's really shitty. He has a family now. That's really shitty."  
  
"I know."  
  
"You need to stop," Zayn says standing up, standing in front of him. "Stop."  
  
Harry throws his cigarette to the step and runs his hands through his hair, before finally looking up to Zayn's face, to look into his eyes. Zayn looks angry. But he also looks sad. Harry can tell, can read him again, and he wants to hold him.

He feels ashamed. He's a bad person, he hurts people on purpose. Zayn knows Liam is bad for him, so he tries not to think about him, and yet he sits here with Harry, kisses Harry, helps Harry, when he hurts people on purpose.  
  
Harry starts to cry then, finally. It was bound to happen eventually.  
  
He leans forward and lets Zayn hold his head against his chest, as he cries his eyes out.  
  
"I got you, Hazza," he whispers.  
  
Ten minutes later, once his face is mostly back to normal, once he's cried and once Zayn sits back on the stairs with him, arm around his shoulders, he vows silently to himself that he needs to be done. He might be an asshole who lies about stupid shit, but he's not going to do it anymore, lie with Michael, lie for Michael. Fuck him. He's not going to let Michael hurt him anymore, he's not going to hurt himself anymore.  
  
As they walk back inside, Harry turns to see Michael staring at him from his front porch, hands on his hips. He doesn't know how long he stood there watching them, doesn't know if Zayn noticed him. So before he walks in after Zayn, Harry very deliberately looks back at him and shakes his head, letting him know it's done.  
  
He's done.  
  
Michael nods, his shoulders slump, defeated.  
  
Michael doesn't text him after that. He never texts him again, actually. He doesn't show up at Harry's door, he doesn't call, he doesn't look at him from across the street ever again. Harry takes comfort in that, the fact that even though they came back together, and Harry still fucking hates him for everything he did, it ended when Harry said so, on his terms. And at least they separated without having to throw any plates.

  
  
***

  
That night, Harry crawls down Zayn's body and blows him, slowly, so slow that by the end of it, Zayn's entire body is in shambles. He's sweaty, flushed, a complete mess, as Harry works him with his tongue, sucking and sucking, slowly, at a snail's pace, running his nails up and down Zayn's thighs.  
  
And when he relents and sucks him harder, faster, when Zayn finally gets his release, he does so with Harry's name on his lips, his moan full of affection for Harry, hands in his hair.  
  
Harry does it to say sorry, to say thank you, to say all the shit him and Zayn don't say to each other. He does it because he's been coming consistently for almost a month, and yet this is the closest he's felt to true pleasure in all that time. Nothing feels good these days unless it's with Zayn next to him, under him, behind him. They haven't seen each other in so long, they both needed it.  
  
So when Harry finishes himself off, coming across Zayn's stomach with a cry, it's to say _thank god you're here._

  
  
***

  
They spend the next day studying at the table again, taking a break every so often to go walk along the beach. They touch, they smile, they kiss. Before they pack up their stuff in Harry's room, Zayn pulls him in for a hug. They stand in the middle of Harry's room and hug. No one's around to see, which makes Harry smile. Zayn wanted to touch him, so he did. Harry finds it difficult to let go.  
  
As they pull out of the driveway, Zayn rubs his hand against the back of Harry's neck, through his hair, as they wave.  
  
Harry thinks he's going to do it until they reach the freeway, thinks they'll touch until they absolutely don't have to anymore, but Zayn removes his hand right as they drive past Michael's house. Michael is getting into his car, when they drive past. Harry locks eyes with him for a just a second. He turns to look at Zayn, but Zayn's frowning and looking away from him, out the window.  
  
He turns the music up loud again.  
  
They say goodbye quickly once they get back to Harry's apartment, just two quick waves, as Zayn reminds him he'll be by Saturday afternoon, to pick him up for the wedding.  
  
Harry feels the agonizing switch flip between them, the flip from the arrangement back to whatever they are outside of it. He hates it all over again.  
  
But he's vowing to himself to be a better person. To at least try.  
  
Because the next time he sees Zayn, he's going to quit this whole fucking thing, and it's going to be real, once and for all.

  
  
***

  
Harry spends the next five days getting his shit together. Or at least, the shit you can get together in only five days. He cleans his apartment, finally. He goes to his finals and does pretty well, which he's happy about. He calls his mom every night, tells her Zayn has locked himself in a room to study, so she'll just have to talk to him when finals are over. He doesn't get high, doesn't take a pill, doesn't call Bobby even once. He texts Adrian to stop texting him. He deletes Michael's number from his phone.  
  
It feels like he's getting rid of so much dead weight, he's about to float.  
  
By the time Saturday rolls around, he paces as he psyches himself up into getting ready. He showers, meticulously does his hair, makes it look somewhat presentable, up and off his forehead, before layering on his suit. It fits him like a glove and he's not ashamed to say he looks good. He's in all black, from his shoes to his briefs to the slate cufflinks his dad gave him a few years ago.  
  
Zayn knocks on his door, right on time, in a black suit, white shirt underneath with the top bottom undone. Harry rolls his eyes when he sees him, knowing he probably couldn't do a tie and tried to pull off the casual look. Zayn's cheeks redden slightly, as Harry walks back into the living room with a red tie and does it for him. He stands close as he does it up.  
  
Zayn touches his elbow as Harry finishes, as he pulls at the lapels to straighten his posture, to see the final product.  
  
"Perfect," he says, kissing Zayn's cheek.  
  
"Thanks," Zayn whispers, before quickly turning away, heading towards the front door.  
  
Zayn drives them to the golf course, hands his keys to the valet, before they walk through the grass to the outdoor wedding set up. There are white chairs lining the long red sheet Ruth will soon make her way down. Their hands wind together as they approach the growing group of people, making their way to the various sides. They see Liam's parents off to the right by the guest book, and they wave at Zayn, Liam's mom extra happy. Harry waves to her as well, and she smiles brightly at him.  
  
Harry can see Zayn getting more and more agitated, more anxious. He's starting to sweat along his hairline, even though it's a gorgeous day. Harry tries to squeeze his hand harder, but it's not helping, not making him settle. Harry's vaguely reminded of the book store, of how Zayn could technically look suave and confident, but underneath it, when he's close to Harry, Harry can tell how fucked he is.  
  
Just then, the music starts and the wedding party start to make their way down the aisle towards the minister. It's not until Liam walks down, with one of Ruth's friends on his arm, that Zayn loses it completely. Harry can see him tense up and look away, look at his feet, look anywhere other than what's happening. Harry narrows his eyes, taking it in. He's confused, he's worried. He knows Liam makes Zayn feel crazy, changes his disposition, ruins who he is. But Harry hasn't seen him like this in a long time.  
  
He understands once Liam takes his place at the front, once he turns to them all, as they all await Ruth's entrance. The music swells and Harry sees it, the look Liam has on his face. Liam looks like a smug fucking bastard, running his left hand through the scruff on his face. He's smiling. He looks up to them and Harry sees it, the look he gives him.  
  
Harry looks to see Zayn's face, but Zayn won't look at him, just keeps looking at his shoes, at other guests, at the sky.  
  
Everyone _ooh_ s and _ah_ s as Ruth walks down the aisle in her white dress, towards her future husband, holding her dad's arm. Everyone is staring at her and Harry is staring at Zayn.  
  
But they're good, they're the best, the best liars you ever did see. Because Zayn smiles as she passes, let's Harry hold his hand tighter, looking like the perfect couple excited to watch two people get married.  
  
Harry leans down, to put his arm around Zayn's waist, to hug him closer.  
  
But it's for show, because when he whispers in Zayn's ear, he does it quietly, trying to mask his face, in case Liam or anyone else looks their way. He could be saying _I love you, babe_ , for all anyone knows. He whispers to him right as Ruth gets closer to the front.  
  
"Zayn, did you sleep with him?" he says sweetly, smile on his face.  
  
He just turns in his arms to look Harry in the eye, expression blank.  
  
Zayn stares.

  
  
***

  
The ceremony is lovely. They exchange lovely vows, they say lovely things to each other, the guests all crying in the right places, spouses holding hands just like they're supposed to at weddings. Harry doesn't hear a fucking word of it, though. He sits next to Zayn with his arm protectively around him, even kisses his temple at one point, but he doesn't hear anything.  
  
All he can picture is how they fucked, where they fucked. He feels sick, thinking of Liam's mouth, of Liam's hands, all over Zayn.

He wonders if Zayn sought out Liam, or if Liam showed up at Zayn's apartment unannounced. Maybe it was wedding nostalgia, maybe they went to familiar territory for comfort or companionship. Maybe Liam did it to fuck Zayn over, to ruin his relationship with Harry. Maybe Zayn did it to fuck with Liam, just because. Maybe they did it because they still have unresolved feelings. Maybe after spending four years with someone, you can't just stop it all at once.  
  
Harry wouldn't know. He still doesn't know their fucking dynamic, who they were together, how they act when they're in a charged room, the energy around them completely and solely their own. He wonders if they burn bright at all, if Zayn burns with whoever he's standing next to. Maybe Harry's nothing special at all, just a prop, the stand-in before Zayn and Liam figure it out and get back together.  
  
He can hardly be angry at Zayn for it, knowing they're barely even friends, let alone in a relationship. They don't owe each other anything. It's an arrangement. He spent the last few weeks fucking a married guy, so it's pretty rich for Harry to sit and think any of these thoughts.  
  
But he stopped. He stopped the toxic shit he had with Michael and made the vow to himself, to be better. He wanted to attend this wedding with Zayn for real, tell him how he feels, hold his hand, kiss him in front of everyone, for no reason, for fun, because he wants to. He wants it to be real. So as Ruth and her husband walk back down the aisle as the music swells again, holding hands and laughing, everyone claps. Harry tries to pull Zayn to him, to look him in the eye again, to silently ask him what they're doing. He wants something, anything. He needs Zayn to give him something, finally, especially now.  
  
But Zayn won't look at him, instead just pulls at Harry's hand and leads him towards the club house for the reception.  
  
Harry follows, holding on tight.

  
  
***

  
Dinner goes fine, Harry and Zayn sitting at a random table with various friends of Ruth's from college. They all seem very nice. Harry has two cocktails and hardly touches his food, too anxious for the conversation he knows is coming.  
  
Once they do a few toasts and people start dancing, once the mood shifts from the food to the party, to the drunk dancing and the cake, Harry gets them two more drinks from the bar and settles next to Zayn at their now empty table.  
  
He knows Liam is hovering around them, dancing with family members, smoking cigars with random cousins out on the deck overlooking the course, so Harry has to keep his face level. He keeps his arm around the back of Zayn's chair, keeps himself close.  
  
"Zayn, why am I even here?" Harry says, with a small smile, even though his voice comes out harsh, angry.  
  
"What?"  
  
"If you want to fuck Liam, if you're getting back with him. If we don't need to do this anymore, why the fuck am I here?" he whispers, shaking the ice in his glass.  
  
"I need you here. It's not like that," Zayn says back, with a smile, as Liam's dad walks by and pats both of their shoulders.  
  
"Tell me how it is, then. I'm not fucking around right now, Zayn. Tell me the fucking truth, for once. Tell me all of it. _Now._ "  
  
Harry can feel himself getting more and more heated, the closer they sit, the sweeter both of their faces become for the benefit of strangers around them. He wants to scream. If they're about to fight, if they're about to have this serious conversation and tell the truth, he'd very much like to be himself and wear his regular expression, you know, _not be lying_ while it's fucking happening.  
  
"He came over yesterday, okay?" Zayn whispers harshly, turning towards him, to hide his face as best he can. "He came to my apartment and told me a bunch of shit he knew I wanted to hear, about how sorry he was, and how he fucked us up. He said it was mostly his fault, that he was mean, that be belittled me, and made me feel like shit daily, to make himself bigger. He said it all."  
  
"So you fucked him?" he says harshly, into his ear.  
  
"You've been fucking Michael for a month, Harry," Zayn practically shrieks.

Harry almost recoils then, at the tone.

"Don't pull this shit with me, okay? You're what, on your way back home tonight so Michael can come over? What happened with Liam was a fucking mistake, and now he wants to smile and throw it back at me, to get back at me, and ruin this. Ruin us. So fuck off," Zayn says in a huff, leaning into him, making it look like they're sitting with their heads tucked together. Like they love each other or something as equally ridiculous.  
  
"I stopped," Harry says running his hand along the back of Zayn's neck, as a slow romantic song comes on and people start to pair off to dance.  
  
"What?"  
  
"You said it on the stairs. You said, 'I got you, Hazza.' So I stopped. I'm done being a shitty person. I don't want to pretend anymore," he finishes in a whisper, emotion taking over his voice, before kissing Zayn's cheek.  
  
"Harry," Zayn says, pulling back, looking at him, eyes wide.  
  
"Just listen, okay? We don't have to pretend anymore, you know? I don't want to think about Michael anymore, he's bad for me. And Liam's bad for you, you know? So let's stop thinking about them. Let's think about us. Let's stop lying. Let's do this," he says in a rush, desperate for Zayn to hear it.  
  
"Harry."  
  
Harry looks at him, sees his body language change. He's tense again, nervous. Harry wants to fucking rage, he wants to throw the table across the room, kick the chair to the floor.  
  
"Why don't you want me?" he says defeated, shrugging his shoulders, staring at him with tears in his eyes.  
  
"Harry," Zayn says, trying to grab his hand, trying to rein him in, so he doesn't make a scene. "Don't do this here, okay? _Please_ do not do this here. Do this for me, help me tonight. We'll talk about this tomorrow."  
  
Harry laughs at that, a true, raucous laugh. He throws his head back he laughs so hard.  
  
"It's still all about the fucking lie, right? Okay, Zayn. I'll do this tonight, don't worry. I got you," he says, anger slicing through his smile now, eyes burning, as he stares daggers at Zayn, knowing Zayn's not going to give him a single thing. He never has before.  
  
But because they have to make it look good, Harry leans in and plants a kiss on his lips, grabs his face, shoves his tongue in his mouth. He fucking _prays_ Liam is around and sees it, he would _love_ if Liam saw them.  
  
Then he gets up and walks quickly to the bar, getting the bartender's attention as he loosens his tie.  
  
"Two whiskey and cokes, whatever whiskey you have. Doubles," he says, smacking his hand against the bar.

  
  
***

  
Harry is absolutely, stupidly, three-sheets-to-the-wind drunk out of his mind. He downed both of the drinks from the bartender, and then downed two more ten minutes later on the deck.  
  
His vision is slightly blurry. And when Liam's mom finds him sitting outside overlooking the golf course, tucked away on the quiet side of the deck, completely alone, holding yet another drink, she tries to engage him in conversation. He's polite, is very nice to her, says the wedding was great. But he's pretty sure he slurs the entire time because she pats his shoulder as she walks away and sets a glass of water on the table next to him.  
  
"Oh hey," he hears to his left, as Liam walks towards him, white shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a glass of champagne in his hand, smiling.  
  
"What do you want?" Harry slurs, leaning back in his chair.  
  
"Just wanted to say hi. Say thank you for coming."  
  
"Fuck off," Harry sneers, looking away.  
  
"So he told you. That's why you're acting like a pissy little girl?" Liam says, coming to stand right in front of Harry, that smug fucking look back on his face.  
  
There are a few ways Harry could play this, he knows, even in his drunken stupor. He could be angry and throw disgusting words in his face. Or he could be pleasant, calm, say he's forgiven Zayn, and that regardless, they're happy and content. He's trying to decide which way to go, bouncing the options back and forth, when Liam speaks again.  
  
"All it took was one conversation, Harry," he says, smiling even bigger. "I show up and with _one_ conversation, I had him again, on his knees. I fucking told you. You will never make him happy."  
  
Harry stands up and shoves him away. Liam looks surprised, but ready to shove him back. Harry cuts him off, waves his hands in front of him.  
  
"Fuck you, Liam. Go fuck yourself," he says, spitting his words out, clearly choosing the angry route. "Yeah he told me, told me what happened, how you showed up and tried to fuck him over, yet again."  
  
Liam just smiles. He thinks he's won.  
  
"But you don't get it. You really are a fucking dunce, aren't you?" Harry says with a smile of his own, tugging on his sleeves, getting himself ready for the lies.  
  
Liam doesn't know it, but Harry Styles is the best fucking liar on the planet. The lies come to him so fast, and so easily, he can't help but smile at how good he is. Because what he's about to say _is_ a lie. It's not the truth. Harry and Zayn aren't together, they're not anything to each other. But for Liam, Harry will spew every lie he can think of, to hurt him.  
  
"You might've had him last night, during a brief weak moment, a moment when you weaseled your way back into his head. And whatever, I'm not happy with him about it, I'm angry. But that's just it, Liam. That's _it_. You get _one_ conversation, _one_ weak moment."  
  
Liam's smile starts to falter slightly, his grip on his drink getting tighter.  
  
Harry keeps lying because it's what he's good at.  
  
"I get all the rest, I get all the best moments, from now on. Because we're in love. I love him. We love each other. And you don't put down the person you love, you don't fuck them over, fuck with them at all. You don't make them feel bad, you don't forget their birthday, you forgive them for lying about stupid shit, shit that doesn't even matter in the long run," Harry says, raising his arms, smiling, because he knows he has the upper hand again.  
  
"Fuck you," Liam says, angry now.  
  
"No, fuck you. Because he's mine. He's _mine_. He lied to you all the time? Lied about dumb shit? He's never lied to me once. He doesn't have to, because he loves me. We fucking _burn_ , Liam."  
  
Liam starts towards him, looking like he's about to beat the shit out of him, but Harry holds up his hand, not finished.  
  
"He's mine. I win and you lose. I fucking win. I've been winning from the second I walked into his world. I win. He's _mine_ , and when my mouth is on his dick later tonight, you'll be a distant fucking memory, some fucker we used to know, some fucker we feel sorry for. _I love him._ And he loves me. And that's it."  
  
Harry can't handle his breathing now, the manic smile spreading across his face as Liam backs away from him, suddenly nervous at the crazy look Harry's wearing.  
  
Harry fucking loves winning.  
  
But everything spins after that, the sky is the deck and the deck is the sky, because Harry's entire center of gravity shifts, his body flails as he stumbles forward. He realizes, about a half second later, that he's been pushed.  
  
He recovers from the stumble, turning, to see Zayn standing there, chest heaving, looking at both of them with a murderous look in his eye.  
  
Harry starts towards him, tries to grab for him, to grab his face, but Zayn shoves him away again.  
  
"You reek like whiskey," he says, chin shaking slightly, hands in fists.

Harry knows it then, again, that he's a bad person. He knows for certain that he's terrible, that he is a liar, a cheater, an asshole who wants to be the best, impress people, entertain those around him when it doesn't even matter. He's bad. He's like Liam, he hurts people on purpose. He looks at Zayn, as Zayn looks back at him, hurt and pain written all over his face.  
  
"Zayn," Liam says, trying to sidestep around Harry, reaching for him.  
  
"Fuck you both. You both can go fuck yourselves," Zayn finishes, pointing at each of them, before he leaves them standing there.

  
  
***

  
When something begins with a lie, when the very foundation of what something is turns out to be a lie, it's fractured before it even begins. And unfortunately, that means whatever it is, even if you hold it dear, can turn out to be broken. It can turn out to be irreparable. It won't be beautiful. It's not whole unless you address it.  
  
And trust this: when you drunkenly say you love someone, when you say it over and over, but wrap it up in lies, twist it around ugly words to throw in someone else's face, to prove a point, to win some bullshit competition that doesn't even exist… well, you can't blame a person for walking out.  
  
Zayn walks out after he hears the entire exchange between Harry and Liam, after he hears it all.  
  
He leaves them both for good.  
  
  
 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

Harry wakes up with the sun on his back. He rolls over to prop himself on his elbow, wincing, to look around and assess where the fuck he even is. Luckily, to his relief, he's in his bed, in his apartment, with his phone and wallet accounted for and on the nightstand. He realizes he's still completely dressed, still has his shoes on, as the sun streams in through the open blinds, making his room feel like a furnace. He has to get out of his uncomfortable clothes before he rips them off and ruins the sleek lines of his good suit.  
  
After he strips down to his briefs and his dress socks, he snatches the almost empty bottle of water next to his phone and savors what little is there, eyes closed, laying on his back in the middle of his bed. This hangover is going to be a bitch, he can already tell, can already feel the bile in his stomach wanting to project itself out. His head hurts, he has a bruise on his calf, and he's pretty sure he's going to die before the morning is over.  
  
He doesn't even remember, doesn't remember to remember what happened the night before, until he realizes his mouth tastes like Jack Daniels.

It's all whiskey.  
  
He rolls over and pukes on his shoes.

  
  
***

  
After Zayn pointed at Harry and Liam, after they saw the anger and betrayal on his face, Harry sank down into a chair and couldn't move. Liam went off, maybe to chase Zayn, maybe to run away from all of it, Harry doesn't know or care. But Harry was left alone then, on the deck under the stars, and he felt himself start to crumble.  
  
In his drunken stupor, he thought about glaciers and how sometimes massive chunks of ice fall off them, just crumble into the ocean, as if that part of ice was never even there, as if the glacier didn't need it anymore, didn't need to be big and expansive. Harry is a glacier, he's cracking, depleting, letting chunks of himself go, bit by bit, and he's worried what will happen when he cracks completely.  
  
After a while, after he could tell the reception was winding down and people were starting to say their goodbyes, Harry got up and walked down the stairs to the grass below. He couldn't go back inside to go out through the front door, he couldn't face people, Liam, anyone at all. It was impolite to leave like that, but he couldn't let anyone see his face, the chunks of ice falling from him as he walked. He also vaguely thought about the stupid fucking lie, the lie that him and Zayn were in love and happy, not sure if Zayn would want Liam's family seeing them leave separately. So he stumbled around the golf course for half an hour, letting the quiet sounds of the pretend "outdoors" lull him. He finally walked towards a gas station near the freeway, sat on the curb, and eventually called a cab.  
  
Harry doesn't really remember the cab ride itself, but he distinctly remembers talking to the driver about ice and glaciers, and how global warming is a real thing, because glaciers don't _want_ to fall apart or break off into the ocean, something must cause a shift, a murmur, a crack. Something big, something seismic, must cause something even bigger to break into pieces.

Harry doesn't remember how long the drive was, if or how he paid the guy, or the walk up to his apartment. He doesn't remember how he got inside or what his last thought was before he fell fully clothed into his bed.  
  
He doesn't remember it, but one of his neighbors found him in front of his door, crying and moaning about global warming, before they helped him open the door.

  
  
***

  
It shouldn't be a surprise that Harry is a coward, in addition to being a liar, a cheater, and a fraud. He's easily scared of things he knows will cause strife for those around him. So the thought of actually talking to Zayn at the moment is terrifying and not something he wants to do. But he has to. If it's done, if they're finally done after all of it, he should at least apologize to Zayn for how it went down. He should apologize for everything he said, for the whiskey, for trying to force Zayn into having feelings for him, at Ruth's wedding, no less.  
  
So he resigns himself, as he sits on his couch that afternoon smoking a joint, to call Zayn and apologize.  
  
Zayn doesn't answer.  
  
He doesn't answer the next ten times Harry calls either. He doesn't answer when Harry texts him over and over, when he calls him twelve more times that night, or the seven times he calls the next day, or the day after that.  
  
Harry eventually turns his phone off after a few days and stops trying. Because Harry knows when something is done. He knows.  
  
He knows how he acted after Michael, with the booze and pills and the boys, and he almost stops himself from doing any of it, of falling back into the same pattern. But Harry knows himself and he knows he deserves every ounce of pain he's now feeling. He let himself be vulnerable again, with a person who had just gotten out of a four year relationship, with a person who needed Harry to lie and pretend for him, to give off the idea that he was happy. He had Zayn pretend to like him, for his fucking family's sake. Normal, well adjusted people don't do what Harry and Zayn did. They just don't.  
  
They're the same. Regardless of why they do it, they're both liars. They both used the other to prove a point to someone. But Harry's worse because Harry did it all on purpose. Every thing he did, he did knowingly and purposefully. He fucked Michael again, he let himself be taken advantage of. He hurt Zayn, he made Zayn tell him the truth about things he didn't want to talk about, let Liam into Zayn's apartment that morning, let himself hear it all.  
  
He drank whiskey. He drank so much whiskey, spewed so much hatred at Liam on that deck, he's surprised his entire body isn't blackened from it. He's sure that kind of evil must manifest itself somehow, physically, so he's pretty positive that at the very least, his heart is now a shriveled, black mass of muscle, beating in his chest out of pure spite, to keep him alive so he's forced to feel it all.  
  
He's a bad person. He does bad things, knowingly. He inflicts pain on purpose.  
  
The first time he said he loved Zayn, out loud, into the ether, to the world at large, was during a fight with Liam Payne. The words that came out of his mouth were ugly, tarnished, littered with malice. He meant it, he meant it so forcefully he almost fell over once he spoke, but it doesn't change the fact that he said it while trying to win. He's wanted to be the best at things his entire life, wanting to win and best people, just to prove that he can. He loves Zayn, he knows he does, but he doesn't deserve him.  
  
So now Harry's alone and he deserves it. It shouldn't feel like another competition, another thing for him to win or lose at, but as he sits on his couch, as his body vibrates from the joint he smoked, it feels a lot like losing.

  
  
***

  
If you must know, Harry spends the next two weeks fucked out of his mind, almost constantly. He figures classes are over, it's summer, he can do anything now that he doesn't have to worry about Zayn. It's not all totally clear to him, what he's doing or where he's going, because he's so completely out of it, so you only get the Cliffs Notes version.  
  
He takes pills, he soars, he parties in random apartments of people he barely knows. Bobby takes him to various houses, lets him hang out while he deals, gets high with all of the new strangers. They talk about Buddhism, and the classes Bobby wants to take, the classes Harry just finished for the semester. One night, Harry gives an entire lecture to a house full of drunk people, about how to effectively communicate your point during a debate. He uses a hockey stick as a pointer, as he calls on people, asking questions, making them think. He feels like a professor, which is amazing, to control a room of people with just his words. They gave him a round of applause after it, and as he took a bow, he almost cried. So he laughed instead.  
  
He drinks shots of every alcohol he can get his hands on, besides whiskey, which suddenly makes him heave whenever he smells it.  
  
The last night he takes a pill, the one final night he soars, is the one that gets the most out of hand, when Bobby gives him ecstasy, in a bar near campus. Harry knows almost every person inside, feels like he's light as a feather, as he dances to intense music, flowing with the free people around him. He moves around and with the people on the dance floor, his hands held above his head, free and free and free. The sun won't be up for a while, he won't have to feel the heat on his back when he wakes up alone, not for hours, so he enjoys it, he burns. He hugs everyone, laughs with Bobby for almost three songs straight, laughs as he spins, free and free and free.  
  
It's not until he's pressed against a wall in the bathroom, a guy's tongue against his throat, that he wants out. He doesn't want to be high anymore, doesn't want to be floating, he wants back down.  
  
He shoves at the stranger as the guy reaches for his belt, shoves at him and yells that he has to go home, he wants back down. After Zayn, he hasn't let anyone touch him, kiss him, come near him, unless he's high and it's to hug him. He's afraid of what he'll do, if anyone other than Zayn touches him.  
  
Harry collapses in his bed that night, after he stumbles home, and as he drops off to sleep, he thinks about glaciers again.

  
***

  
Harry wakes up to someone shaking him, moving his body, pulling his hair. He hears a voice yelling into his ear, but he can't process any words. It's just sounds to him, as his body shakes, as he breathes through it.  
  
"Are you fucking serious?" is the first sentence that makes sense, as he rolls off his bed on accident, falling to the floor.  
  
Harry's head feels off center, like it's stuck on his neck at the wrong angle. It feels heavy. He shakes it, finally opening his eyes, rubbing at his temples. He looks up and sees Gemma staring at him, hands on her hips.  
  
"You don't call mom for three days and I find you like this? Really, Harry? You were supposed to be done with this shit," she says, throwing a few items of clothing at his chest. "Get dressed."  
  
She walks out into the living room as Harry sits there, breathing through it some more, trying to remember the night before. He remembers being with Bobby, laughing with Bobby about partying with molly again. He remembers dancing. He remembers a tongue on his throat, which makes him feel sick. So he gets dressed as best as he can, trying to shake the feeling off.  
  
Gemma doesn't bring it up until they're in the car, after Harry has a hot cup of coffee in his hands from Starbucks, sunglasses low on his nose, as he continues to breathe through it.  
  
"Where's Zayn?" she says, eyes straight ahead, as they head west towards the house.  
  
"I don't know," he says, groggily, honestly.  
  
Her hands tighten on the steering wheel.

  
  
***

  
Anne doesn't say much when Harry walks through the front door, not as he walks around the house looking around at nothing, unsettled. She doesn't say anything when he walks to the beach to be alone for a while, or when he comes back and sits next to her on the back porch, in the lounge chair he once shared with Zayn. She just lets him sit, let's him breathe, as she settles into her own chair.  
  
Gemma brings him a bottle of water, before disappearing back inside, knowing Harry only likes to tell things to their mother. She gets it.  
  
Harry doesn't want to faint at her feet now, like he did the last night with Michael, from the blood, from the pain, from the sheer emotion. He doesn't want Anne to see that again. The whole point of all of this was to prove that he was fine so she wouldn't have to worry anymore. He realizes, as he sits with her on the porch, watching the waves, that he never should've let his happiness rest in the hands of anyone. It was a burden Zayn never should've had to carry, pretend or not.  
  
He wonders why Zayn even did it, why he did any of it, when it hits him like a fucking bus.  
  
He reaches out for his mom then, as he lets the sadness wash over him again. He holds her hand as he thinks about Zayn, about how even in the middle of a lie, he could make Harry feel something, something great. He thinks about every lie they told together, the game they played, and how even though it was fake, it also wasn't. The last few weeks, through every high, every drunk night, behind his eyes, he thought about Zayn and what they did. It was a lie, but it wasn't.  
  
It was an arrangement, but there were moments when it wasn't. Moments when they kissed just for them, from their second kiss in Zayn's car that first night, to the touches they shared when no one was around. They didn't have to sleep together, didn't have to touch each other behind closed doors. That was for them. They burned together in a crowded room, but they burned the most when they were alone.  
  
Harry knew, had a feeling that they both knew deep down, after they kissed on the beach that night and then had sex for the first time, that they were coming together for a reason, that they couldn't stop. But they also slept together to try and get over other people. That's not right, that's not how two people should start. Not with a lie, and not as a distraction.  
  
Harry's still angry with himself, knowing he ruined it, ruined all if it. But he gets it. He's alone and he deserves it. He deserves all the pain and all the suffering. His mom doesn't, so he squeezes her hand tight, vowing to himself to get it together. He doesn't want to spend another year spiraling out of control over a boy, a boy he loved, but a boy who also needs to move on. That boy might have loved him back, but he deserves better than Harry, better than a lie. And Anne deserves to see him better, happy, whole, on his own. For real.  
  
"I'm sorry," he whispers, as a tear falls.  
  
"Oh my Hazza, it's okay," she says back, holding his hand tighter, a knowing look on her face. "Is it over?"  
  
"Yeah. Yeah, it's all over," he looks down.  
  
"I'm sorry, Harry. I know it's hard now, but you'll be okay. You loved each other. It might take some time, but you'll both be okay. And maybe you'll find your way back together, maybe it'll be deeper," she says, nodding.  
  
Harry snaps his head up to look at her, to look her in the eye. She just gives him a small smile back.  
  
Harry realizes she knows. She must know everything. Harry can't lie to his mother, he never has. He's never even tried. He's a fucking idiot.  
  
He starts to say something, but she cuts him off.  
  
"I knew the second you walked in the door, baby. I knew when you walked in with that sweet boy, that it was brand new, that it was for my sake. I knew. I didn't know all the details, or the true extent of what you meant to each other," she smiles.  
  
Harry just stares.  
  
"But I knew it wasn't exactly normal. I knew something was up. You can't lie to me," she says, rolling her eyes. "But I knew about five seconds after that, not to worry, to let it happen, let you tell me what you wanted to tell me. Because he looked at you like you were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen."  
  
Harry can't stop staring. He can feel his eyes getting wetter.  
  
"I knew he was a good one. I knew he was good for you, would take care of you, that you took care of him. I knew."  
  
Harry hangs his head then, letting the tears fall. He realizes again that it wasn't all fake. It wasn't all a lie. It's ironic how much of a disservice it would be to them now, to say it was nothing, that every touch, every kiss, every favor was for nothing, for no reason. They started as a lie, but they didn't live as one, not when it mattered.  
  
So when he looks up to her again, to see her also crying, he can't tell her it was fake. He won't. Because _that_ would be the worst lie of all.  
  
From here on out, he's going to tell the truth, from now on, no matter what. To her. To everyone.  
  
"I love him, mom. I really, really do. But I fucked up and said some really terrible things," he says, choking on his words.  
  
"Then you go tell him you're sorry. You tell him the truth, Harry. Tell him all of it, even the bad stuff, the things you're not proud of. Tell him how you feel. If someone loves you, they forgive you. Simple as that."  
  
"He won't answer my calls. He won't talk to me."  
  
"Then you make him talk to you. Since when does Harry Styles just sit around and do nothing?"  
  
"I haven't been doing nothing, that's the problem. I've been fucking up again, a lot this time. Over and over," he says, ashamed.  
  
"Then stop. Stop lying. Stop putting yourself through this pain you for some reason think you deserve. You did a bad thing, you're sorry for it, so stop lying. And stop partying, Harry. I'm serious now, about all of it. It's enough," she says, eyes angry. She knew about the pills and the boys before, especially after Michael, and he knows he needs to stop now, before it gets worse.  
  
"I will," he nods.  
  
And that's the truth, he thinks, as he turns back to the ocean and holds her hand again. He might be a terrible person, a person who does bad things for no reason, but he can try and be better. For real this time.  
  
He also thinks, as the sun sets, as the lies slowly start to lift off of him one by one, as he lets them float away, that he doesn't need to win anymore. Because once you've lost the only true thing you've ever wanted, lost the one person you always intended to hold onto, nothing else really matters. He doesn't need to win by proving how awful he is, by putting himself down, by soaring higher, to feel all of it. He doesn't want to win anything anymore. He wants Zayn. He wants it all to be real, everything he said to Liam, about them having the rest, the best moments together.  
  
He wants Zayn for real, and he wants to deserve him. He wants it to be true. He wants to tell the truth.

  
  
***

  
The problem for Harry, after he lets his mom pick up the proverbial pieces yet again, is that in order to talk to Zayn, to let him hear all of it, Zayn would have to answer his fucking phone, which he still won't do.  
  
Harry bangs on his door with his fist, for a good twenty minutes the next afternoon, but there's nothing. He worried it would be the ultimate role reversal, that he'd bang on the door to find Liam behind it, naked and smiling like he did that one morning.  
  
But there's nothing. No answer.  
  
He slumps against the door, resolutely deciding because he's stubborn, that he'll wait here all fucking night if he has to. He doesn't care if Zayn comes waltzing in with Liam behind him, he'll sit here until Zayn lets him in to explain everything. He starts making a mental list of all the shit he wants to say, of every truth he needs to let out. He's going to tell Zayn every single truth he has, if Zayn will hear it. He prays Zayn will let him have something back, even if it's a swift kick to the ass in anger, if it means Zayn will tell him the truth too. He just wants to hear it, even if the truth is a simple _I loved you before, but I hate you now, go home, Harry._  
  
He'll take all of it.  
  
Just then a door opens down the hall and an old woman peeks her head out, looking at him in fear. He sees she's holding a baseball bat.  
  
"Woah, I'm sorry. Sorry that was loud. I'm not knocking anymore, I swear," he says from the floor, holding his hands up in fear.  
  
"Why are you here? Why are you at Zayn's door?" she says, angry now, stepping out into the hall to stare him down.  
  
Harry tells the truth now, so.  
  
"I need to talk to Zayn. I need to apologize for some stuff," he says, still sitting on the floor, hands up.  
  
"Who are you?"  
  
"I'm… his… friend? I think? Or I was. I was sort of his boyfriend, I suppose," he says, letting all the words run out alongside each other. "I just need to talk to him, so I'll wait. But I'll be quiet, I promise."  
  
She eyes him for a few extra seconds, before deciding he must be alright, must be somewhat trustworthy.  
  
"He's not here. He's spending the next few months at his parents' house, in the valley."  
  
"Oh," he says, eyes wide, not expecting that. He briefly thinks he'll go to school and white-lie his way into getting administration to give him Zayn's home address, knowing it won't be good to lie again, but desperate times, and all that. Just then the woman speaks again.  
  
"I can give you the address. You can go apologize there," she says, now with a small smile.  
  
"Thank you, thank you so much," he rushes out, scrambling to his feet.  
  
"He's a good boy. So you be nice to him," she says, as she scribbles onto an old piece of mail from inside her apartment, handing it to him.  
  
"I will be nice to him, I promise. He's good. He's too good. He's very good, he's the best. Like, he has that kind of face that looks intense and a little scary, but he's so _good_ inside, you know?" he says in a rush, letting even more words tumble out.

The nice lady just smiles at him.  
  
It turns out that when Harry tells the truth, even about small things, he can't stop himself once the first initial word spills out of him. He's incapable of not telling all of it, of keeping even a word of it in. It just falls out of his mouth, truth by truth, until he has to take a breath.  
  
Or that could just be how he speaks when it comes to Zayn, when it comes to telling the world about Zayn, who Zayn is.  
  
Who knows. Too early to tell.

  
  
***

  
Harry pulls up to the quaint house in Sherman Oaks. There aren't any cars in the driveway, which worries him slightly, but there's a mess of stuff in the front yard behind the gate. A bike, a skateboard, a few tennis balls. Mail is stuffed in the mailbox, so Harry grabs it and carries it to the front door and knocks.  
  
He's about to turn around, frustrated that no one's home, when the door opens and he sees a gorgeous woman staring back at him.  
  
"Can I help you?" she says warily, looking at the stack of mail in his hands.  
  
"Oh, this is yours," he says in a rush, handing it to her. "Uh, I'm here to see Zayn, if he's home. I would like to speak with Zayn, please."  
  
She stares at him. And Harry sees where Zayn gets it, the intense stare he does when he doesn't know what to say, as he thinks to himself, collects his thoughts. He almost laughs, seeing Zayn's mother for the first time, it's so endearing.  
  
"He's not home right now."  
  
"Oh."  
  
He feels his face twist, as he thinks about what to do and weighs his options in his head, bouncing them around. He could go to the house, go see his mom, wait it out. Or he could sit in his car and wait. Or he could go cry as he drives around the valley aimlessly, thinking about Zayn's laugh and the time he bit his neck in the kitchen, the way he held his hand when he was nervous. But Zayn's mom touches his arm and pulls him out of it.  
  
"Would you like to wait inside? He should be back soon," she says, with a caring smile.  
  
"Yes, please. Yes, I would like to do that, thank you," he says, again in a rush, as if it's the only way he knows how to speak now.  
  
Harry "Slow Talker" Styles now can barely contain himself when he speaks, which is a new change of pace.  
  
Trisha, as she introduced herself, has Harry sit on the couch surrounded by clothes and various magazines and books, while she grabs a glass of water for him. He surveys the room, sees the clutter, the clutter that makes the place seem lived in, homey, settled. He sees traces of Zayn everywhere, pictures of him and his sisters on the wall, a pair of his shoes by the door, a painting on the wall Harry would bet Zayn did. It all makes him smile. He also aches, wondering if this is the only time he'll be in this house.  
  
Trisha sits across from him in an armchair, waving her hand around at the living room, giving up. Harry's here, he's already seen the mess. She rolls her eyes just like Zayn does and Harry almost laughs again.  
  
"So, you're Harry," she says, crossing her legs.  
  
"Uh, yes. I'm Harry," he says, face getting hot. He wonders if Zayn tells his mother the types of things he tells his own mother, and suddenly he feels nauseous.  
  
"Zayn's told me about you."  
  
"Oh," he says, scratching at his neck. Fuck.  
  
"He told me you helped him, with Liam. You helped him get over Liam. You made him feel better, after being with someone who made him feel bad for so long. So for that, I suppose I should say thank you," she says, still looking at him intensely.  
  
"He helped me too," he says back, feeling his face getting hotter. He really doesn't want to cry in front of her.  
  
"I figured. He does that, Zayn. He helps people. He's strong. But when he doesn't feel strong, when he feels weak, he keeps it close."  
  
"I thought so," Harry says, nodding to his feet.  
  
"He told me for the few weeks leading up to Ruth's wedding, he was a mess over you. He couldn't really concentrate, had a hard time studying. He missed you. But he was mad at himself for falling into something so soon after a serious relationship," she says, no longer smiling. "I hope he tells you all this, but just in case he doesn't, if he tries to say he's fine, you should know it."  
  
Harry stares at her, in disbelief. She told Harry Zayn's secrets. He now knows Zayn was a mess too, in his own way.  
  
"I just need to tell him a few things. Even if he doesn't want to tell me anything, he needs to hear me," he says, serious.  
  
"That's good, Harry. That's really good. Because when you care for someone, you tell them the truth. And you make them feel good, you don't make them feel bad, okay?"  
  
"Okay," he nods, now really afraid he'll cry.  
  
Trisha must sense it, because she looks away and turns up the TV across from them. Harry's grateful to have background noise, so he can breathe through it, while he waits.  
  
They wait for another twenty minutes, neither speaking, instead watching an old episode of "Seinfeld." Trisha laughs at a few parts, and Harry sees Zayn all over, from her laugh to her movements. He wants to know her better, ask her a million questions. But the door opens and he looks up.  
  
Two young girls come crashing into the house in a fury, fighting over something, one trying to grab a phone from the other's hand. Trisha immediately goes to play referee, to figure out what's happening. Zayn comes in after them and kicks off his shoes.  
  
"You two are the fucking worst, I'm serious. It's like, we can't have one car ride without someone yelling," he says, throwing his hat onto the stairs.  
  
Harry sits there and watches, sees their family interact, none of them noticing him. He wants to be in the middle of it so badly, wants to know all of them. It should scare him, but it doesn't.  
  
Trisha looks at Zayn as the girls walk into the kitchen, still bickering, and gestures to the couch. Zayn finally looks over and sees him, and his entire body stops mid movement to stare at him.  
  
"I'm going to take the girls to Doniya's. You two should talk, have coffee, stay here," she says, fiercely, as Zayn turns to look at her. His eyes are full of betrayal.  
  
Harry awkwardly stands up and runs his palms against his shitty black jeans with the holes in the knees. He suddenly feels hot again, like the air in the room is too charged, too intense. Zayn just keeps staring at him, even as Trisha physically shoves the girls past Zayn out the front door, keys in her hand. They stand and listen to the Malik women make their way to the car, confused, in a flurry. Zayn still won't move.  
  
"Hi," Harry tries, shifting his awkward duck feet, moving around in place.  
  
"Why are you here?"  
  
"I wanted to talk to you."  
  
"I don't want to talk to you. That's what it means when someone ignores your calls," Zayn says blankly, still not moving.  
  
"If you want it to be done, then we'll be done. But we need to finish it, Zayn. We need to finish it the right way and lay it out," he says, annoyed now, hands on his hips. Never let it be said that even in tense situations can Harry Styles still not get his way, at least somewhat.  
  
Zayn rolls his eyes, exactly like Trisha Malik just did, and walks into the kitchen. Harry hurries to follow him, almost tripping over a stray high heel.  
  
Zayn busies himself with making coffee. Harry doesn't know what to do, or how to start, so he just wanders around the kitchen, near the dining area, before walking into the side sitting room, looking at more pictures on the walls. Zayn is happy or smiling in every single one, even the one where his dad has him in a headlock.  
  
"Sit," Zayn says, causing Harry to turn back to him, seeing him sitting at the table. Harry hurries over and sits across from him, grabbing the cup of coffee set in front of him.  
  
He stares at Zayn, looks at his face, the face he's missed so much his stomach aches. His hair is a mess, after being under a hat, and he has bags under his eyes. But he's still a goddamn model, still perfect. Harry wants to touch him, he wants to touch him everywhere.  
  
But Harry shakes his head, wanting to get to his list, wants Zayn to get out of it what he needs as well.  
  
"Okay, there are a few ways we could do this," Harry says, businesslike. "You can let me say all of it, let me tell you the truth about shit, how I feel. Or you could tell me what you want to tell me, if anything at all. Or we can just say shit. Get it out, however we want. Just say stuff, say how we feel."  
  
Zayn stares at him.  
  
"Give me something, Zayn. Give me something to go on," Harry huffs out.  
  
"Why do you come in here acting like this is fine? Like this is normal, and we just had a random fight, and now we have to talk it out?"  
  
Harry can't help but be taken aback, staring back at Zayn, startled.  
  
"You were a fucking asshole, Harry. Did you not hear yourself? Don't you know what you did?" Zayn says, leaning forward.  
  
Harry stares at him. Clearly Zayn needs to say a few things first, so he shuts his mouth.  
  
"You want the truth, Haz? You want all my secrets? Fine. You can take them all. Fuck it. Don't talk."  
  
Zayn slowly takes a drink of his coffee, before settling himself back into his chair, getting comfortable. Harry does the same, readying himself for whatever Zayn's about to throw at him. He knows then that he's about to get it, get everything that's coming to him. He reminds himself he fucked up, that he deserves it, so he nods, telling Zayn to say what he needs to say.  
  
"I should've told you more about Liam, about what him and I were together," he says first, startling Harry all over again. "I was quiet in high school, I kept to myself. It started when Liam finally looked at me. It was like we flew at each other, one day in the locker room, like some weird rush of body heat and sweat."  
  
Harry winces slightly, not liking the visual. But he stays quiet.  
  
"He was my first everything: kiss, love, sexual partner, break up. All of it, was Liam. For a while it was good, we were good. But he's vindictive. He gets angry easily. It's too easy for him to forget people. So I learned quickly to lie about shit, to tell him what he wanted or needed to hear, so we wouldn't fight or get angry. So yeah, I lied about dumb shit, about music I liked, movies I wanted to see, whatever it had to be, to make it easy, to make him see me. We spiraled over and over, stayed together for years, even when we were pissed. It became some perverse competition for the upper hand. He bossed me around, wanted me to surprise him for bullshit reasons. He hated to have fun, to tease, to play. He was angry. But I thought we loved each other, under all of it, so we stayed together. We were supposed to get a house. But he broke up with me six months ago, right there in my fucking living room. He said it was over, said he hadn't loved me for a long time, said that I lied too much. Fucking ironic, right?"  
  
Harry can't move, can't let Zayn stop, now that he's on a roll. He's speaking so fast, so rushed, only breathing sparingly. He grips his coffee tighter.  
  
"I learned to lie by being around Liam, because Liam is an asshole. I lied to him, but I also lied for him. I had to constantly cover his ass to people around us, to make excuses for why he was a dick. So he was right: I lied all the time, I got so good at it."  
  
Now Zayn looks sad and Harry wants to touch him again. But he doesn't.  
  
"Why do you lie, Haz? Tell me," he says finally, looking up to Harry's face.  
  
"It's not a good excuse, honestly. But I guess… I guess I figured out at a young age that I was charming. I wasn't very smart, you know? Gemma was better at everything, at all of it, so when I saw that I could smile at people the right way to get what I wanted, that was it. I became an ace liar, to mask it all. If I lie, I don't give away how much of a loser I am. I force myself to seem happy, to burn bright. I lie to entertain myself, to entertain people, to feel good. That's why I told you on the beach that I wasn't wounded, even though it was a lie. I needed to say it out loud, to try and believe it," he finishes, with a shrug.  
  
He's never said it out loud like that before. Zayn furrows his brow and looks down.  
  
"It wasn't all a lie, you know?" Zayn says, still looking down.  
  
"It wasn't a lie _at all_ , Zayn. Not for me."  
  
"But it wasn't good, Haz. It wasn't good at all. I knew it," Zayn says quietly. Harry almost breaks into pieces hearing him say it.  
  
"Some of it was?"  
  
"I saw you, you know," Zayn says, looking to him again. "I saw you look at Liam before you kissed me for the first time."  
  
Harry's cheeks redden, his heart starts to race, as Zayn continues.  
  
"I know you only kissed me because Liam was watching, because you wanted to win. I knew even then, that you wanted to win at all of it. It wasn't genuine. I saw you. I knew. That's why I didn't go into your apartment when we got back, because I didn't know how genuine you would turn out to be, as a person. That's why I teased you, why I kissed you, grabbed for you, before sending you on your way. I wanted to test you, to see if you'd let me, if you'd laugh or be sweet, and you were."  
  
Harry almost cries then, remembering that night in the car, that kiss, that pull.  
  
"I kissed you because he was watching, that's true. That is the truth. But the second I did it, I literally didn't want to stop, ever. I want to kiss you all the time. I want to kiss you right now," he says, chin wobbling.  
  
Zayn stares at him.  
  
"I knew it was an arrangement. But I wanted to kiss you all the time, too," Zayn finally says, chin also moving against its will. "That first weekend at the house, I kissed you in your room because I wanted to. I knew, after that kiss, I would help you for as long as you needed me to. That's why I told your family I'd be around until you asked me not to be. But it was like Liam was in my ear, whispering that I wasn't worthy of any of it."  
  
Harry doesn't say anything. Not yet. He thinks he knows where this is all going, where they're headed.  
  
"I lie for other people, Haz. I wanted your family to see you were good, see you were fine. But I was with Liam for four fucking years. I was still fucked up, I was still sad. So when you said it on the beach, that it was just an arrangement, I went with it, I was relieved. I couldn't get too heavy too soon, you know?"  
  
"I know."  
  
Harry sits and stares at Zayn, willing him to continue, to tell him anything and everything. He wants to hear all of it, hear his entire life story, hear every secret, every fear. He's craving it. He wants to know the bad stuff, the thoughts he can't keep in anymore.  
  
Zayn must get it. Because just like that night in Harry's bed, when Harry told the story of him and Michael, once the flood gates open, Zayn can't stop.  
  
Zayn knows how it feels to break. He was broken in half, over and over, day after day, for years by Liam. His heartache wasn't as swift or quick as Harry's last night at Michael's was, but it still hurt. So he lied to get through the day, to try and convince himself he could make it better. He did what he had to do, to move on. So he fucked a guy from his English class, in his bed only a few hours after him and Liam broke up, to see if he would ever be capable of sleeping with someone else. He had only ever been with Liam. He saw that he could, that it fucking sucks, to be with someone who doesn't know you or your body, but he could. It helped him get up, to move on, to try and be better. He drunkenly texted Liam, a few months later, and told him the whole story, to hurt him. That was the last time they had spoken, until the book store, when Zayn knew through his mom that he'd be there that day.  
  
When they left after the first weekend, Anne whispered to Zayn to take Harry anywhere but his apartment. He needed to be with Zayn, not alone, not by himself. He needed Zayn. So Zayn knew their arrangement couldn't end yet, not that night, so he took him to his place and made him feel better. But when he had Harry on his bed, it made him feel better, too.  
  
Zayn was mad that Liam showed up at his apartment because he knew Liam twisted all of it, told Harry the worst he could think of, that Zayn lied about everything he said, which wasn't even true. He lied to make situations easier, sure, to make people feel better. But never to hurt anyone. He didn't hurt people like Liam does.  And Liam DID forget his birthday last year, so he can fuck off. Zayn was a liar, he lied a lot, but he had to, to get through the fucking day.  
  
Zayn lied in the bookstore to get Harry to go along with it, but he didn't lie after that, his nerves were real. But he could tell, even then, that Harry wanted to win, wanted to best Liam no matter what the consequences were. He saw it on his face plain as day.

Harry hangs his head.  
  
Zayn still can't stop, now that he's started, so he just keeps admitting the truth, telling Harry every single thought that comes to his head, in whatever order it comes to him. Harry feels like his head is spinning, as he silently sits and lets Zayn tell him truth after truth after truth.  
  
Zayn hasn't slept with anyone since he met Harry, except for the night before the wedding with Liam, after Liam spewed bullshit and told him what he finally wanted to hear, in a weak moment when he thought Harry wasn't his, when he thought Harry would always be Michael's. Harry pinches his eyes then, as Zayn tells him he couldn't touch another person besides Harry, even when he knew what Harry did, who Harry was probably off with.  
  
Harry very nearly gets sick. He holds his mouth with his hands to keep himself from vomiting.  
  
Zayn continues, even as he sees Harry's stricken face. Harry's so fucking ashamed of himself, he can't stop holding his mouth.

Through all of it, Zayn could feel himself wanting Harry, even after what he knew about Harry, so he wanted to be honest in the car, to tell him at least some of what Liam did.  
  
He wanted to touch Harry all the time, even if it was just for show, so he did whatever the fuck he wanted when they were around Harry's family. Every touch, every kiss, all of it, was for him. Not for anyone else.  
  
Fucking Harry in that bar bathroom was the sexiest and riskiest thing he's ever done, the best night he's ever had, and he didn't even fucking care that Harry did it to show up Michael, to win, like he wanted to win at the engagement party by kissing Zayn in front of Liam. Zayn wanted to help him, wanted them to show the world how good they were. He missed him, he asked Harry to see if he missed him too. But seeing Harry's reaction to Michael scared the shit out of him, seeing how someone can fuck you over so swiftly, so thoroughly. Liam at least sat with him in his living room and cried over their break up, at least admitted that they needed to separate because they weren't good for each other. So seeing Michael scared him. He didn't know Harry was as broken as he was.  
  
He knew it was getting heavy though, that they needed to be careful. So after their amazing weekend, after what happened in the bar bathroom, after he could feel himself falling, he needed to get away, to not be completely enveloped by Harry like he was for four years with Liam. So he said he wouldn't see Harry until the wedding, even though it fucking killed him every single day.  
  
While Harry spent three weeks fucking with Michael, Zayn spent those weeks depressed and angry. He was angry that he fell for Harry, when it was supposed to be easy. He was angry he fell so fast after such a shitty long term relationship. When Harry asked him to go to the house again, he practically shouted in excitement, to touch Harry again, to be with him.  
  
When Harry kissed him after dinner, when he said he missed Zayn and Zayn said he was right there, he almost cried, if Harry wants the fucking truth.  
  
Zayn got angry again, when Harry told him he'd been sleeping with Michael. All he could picture was Michael's mouth and hands all over him, and he had the briefest thought that he should go across the street to beat the shit out of Michael once and for all. Because he didn't want Harry with someone who hurt him. He didn't want to share Harry, even if it was all fake. He made it sound like Harry shouldn't do it because Michael had a family, but that was a fucking lie. He didn't give a shit about Michael or his wife, he just didn't want to share. Harry cried on his chest, but the next day when they left, he looked at Michael again and they saw each other. Zayn had to physically look away otherwise he'd be sick, because they had spent the night together mere hours before, and he knew he was fucked. He spent the next few days depressed again, until Liam showed up, saying he was sorry.  
  
When Harry told him the truth at the reception, told Zayn they shouldn't be fake anymore, he was surprised. He thought Harry still wanted Michael. He knew they felt something for each other, but he was too fucked up over what had happened with Liam only the night before, and he assumed Harry was still fucked over Michael. When Harry asked why Zayn didn't want him, he had to contain himself to not jump into his lap. He knew it then, knew his feelings, when Harry almost cried, thinking Zayn didn't want him. He knew then, he wanted to say it so bad, but he didn't want it to be there in that room, when they were pretending for Liam or anyone else. He wanted it to be in his bed, or Harry's bed, away, together, alone. He didn't want Harry to get upset or make a scene, so he begged him to save it, to save the conversation.  
  
He heard everything Liam and Harry said on the deck, as he walked around the corner. He heard it all. He heard Harry's lies, the _I love him, we love each other_ , all of it. He knew Harry was telling the truth when he said it, knew then that Harry loved him. But he heard the hatred in his voice, the sickening things he said to hurt Liam, the things Liam practically admitted about only sleeping with him again to prove something, to win, to break them up.  
  
All either of them wanted was to win. Win him, or win a competition, to beat someone else. Zayn was just the fucking football they each were chasing, trying to score points for no reason. He shoved Harry, for saying he loved him like that, in a lie, in a fight. He shoved him for drinking whiskey. For fucking Michael over and over. For making him fall for him, and then throwing it in Liam's face.

Harry has never felt so ashamed in his life.

It's gotten dark now, the light above the table the only thing illuminating the room, their coffee cold. And through it all, Harry listens to every word Zayn says, he listens and lets it all roll around in his head. He has a great memory, so he commits every word of it to his brain, every word in his head like he's taking notes in class, so he won't forget not only what Zayn is saying, but the fact that Zayn is saying any of it at all.

It's not until the end, when Zayn says he knew he felt something for Harry, and wanted them to talk alone, for real, not in that shitty reception hall, that Harry cries. He cries and cries, as Zayn tells him about hearing the fight on the deck, all the things he heard Harry say, to throw at Liam. Harry reminds himself, yet again, how bad he is, how terrible of a person he is, deep down.

He cries and he doesn't know if he'll be able to stop, as Zayn stares at him, blank, to finish telling Harry the whole truth and nothing but the truth.  
  
"I'm sorry," Harry finally chokes out, interrupting him, resting his forehead in his hands. "I'm really sorry."  
  
"I didn't tell you any of it, didn't tell you about me, my life, why Liam broke up with me, any of it. Because I'm ashamed," Zayn plows on, ignoring Harry. Harry looks up to him as he continues. "I had someone tell me for four years how worthless I am. So I hid behind my sunglasses, hid behind the face that can lie easily now, behind the stupid fucking bravado I can turn on, if I have to. I can burn bright, Harry. I burn so fucking bright. But Liam made me feel like a fucking loser. He made me feel like nothing."  
  
Harry stares at him.  
  
"And I'm tired of feeling like nothing. I'm tired of feeling shitty. I'm tired of guys like Liam, guys like you, making me feel bad about myself. I'm done."  
  
"I'm sorry," Harry tries again, says sorry like his mom told him to do. She said it would work, if you love someone, to apologize and let them forgive you.  
  
"I don't care," Zayn says, shrugging his shoulders, defeated, crying now too.  
  
"But we can do it now, right? Right, Zayn? Look how honest we both just were! We're here! We're telling the truth, we can tell the truth now. I don't want to lie anymore, not to you, or anyone," he says, wiping his nose, leaning in, wanting Zayn to hear it.  
  
"I don't think so, Harry. I think we'd try, you'd try to do better, I'd try, we'd give it shot. But I don't believe it would actually work, not with us like this."  
  
"But it _will_ work, you'll see. We can do it now."  
  
"No," Zayn finishes, shaking his head. "No."  
  
Harry cries harder, resting his face back in his hands, knowing it's done.  
  
Because sometimes you lie, and sometimes you tell the truth to fix it. But sometimes it can't be fixed, it can't be repaired. It's broken.  
  
"We're not going to talk for a while, Haz. We're not going to call each other, or text, or show up at each others' houses, for a long time. I'm not going to let Liam back in, I'm not going to fake anything anymore. He tried to follow me after the wedding, has tried calling me, but I'm done. I'm going to be fine, by myself, for fucking once in my life."  
  
Harry looks up at him.  
  
"And you're not going to fuck with Michael, you're not going to talk to him, or call him, or even look at his fucking house when you're home. You're not going to get high, or drink until you black out, or talk to shitty people who think your lies are fun, or funny. Okay?"  
  
Harry feels like he has whiplash, it all happens so fast.  
  
"Okay," he nods, wiping his eyes. "What else?"  
  
"You're selfish, Harry. You lie for fun, you hurt people, you forget to notice people around you, you don't see what they need unless it serves you, serves a lie. You party too much. You drink too much. You wanted to beat Liam. You think you have feelings for me, but you wanted to beat him. That's not okay."  
  
"Okay. Keep going."  
  
"But you're smart. You're sweet. You might not know it, but deep down, you're good. You want people to be happy, especially your mom. But you can't have someone beside you to make her happy, you need to do it on your own. You want to help those who can't help themselves. You helped me, and I'm grateful. But this is it. We aren't good together, not now."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"But maybe eventually we will be. Maybe some day, we'll be better for each other, we'll be ready, and we'll try," he says, as a tear falls.  
  
"I love you," Harry says in a rush. "I love you so much. The first time I said it out loud, the first time you heard it, shouldn't have been to Liam, or in a fight, or like that at all. I fucking love you."  
  
"I love you too," Zayn says, closing his eyes, before letting his head fall back, exhausted.  
  
"Good," Harry says with a small smile.  
  
"Remember what I said, Haz. Do better, okay? Do _good_. No more fucking around, no more lies, okay? Then we'll see. We both need time, a long time, to figure shit out."  
  
"Okay," Harry nods, as he feels himself float off his chair slightly, at the hope of something happening eventually, happening when Zayn says so.  
  
He vows to be a better person. He vows to do what Zayn told him to do. He's not going to lie anymore, he's not going to fuck around with anyone.  
  
He's going to wait. He's good at waiting for the things he wants.  
  
They sit in the kitchen for a while longer, after everything's been said, after all of it has been set on the table like a poker game. They flip each truth around, they survey it all like cards in a deck. They don't talk much more, but it feels settled for now.  
  
Zayn holds his hand for a few seconds, across the table, as they hear Trisha and the girls pull into the driveway.  
  
It's not a lot, but Harry takes it anyways.

 

***

 

Harry leaves that night, out the front door and down the walkway to his car, without looking back at Zayn. He doesn't want to know if Zayn closed the door behind him, letting him leave without a glance. But he also doesn't want to look back and see Zayn standing there, watching him. Either way it'll hurt.

So he waits to get into his car, as he pulls back onto the freeway, before finally letting another tear fall.

He goes home, he lets Anne hug him, before getting into his bed, trying to chase Zayn's scent on sheets that he's never even slept in, on a new pillow Anne threw onto his bed. Harry hates it, thinks about going to sleep on the couch downstairs, but he doesn't, he just lays there. He can't move.

He vows to himself, yet again, to do every single thing Zayn said.

So he doesn't call Zayn, he doesn't text him, doesn't go back to his house. They don't talk. He doesn't talk to Michael, or call him, or even look at his fucking house. He doesn't get high, doesn't drink. He deletes bad people from his phone, removes Bobby from his life.

He gets his shit together, once and for all, knowing he won't see Zayn for a long time.

He cries a lot, but it is what it is.

Anne told him when you love someone, if you apologize, they forgive you. Zayn just happens to be a person who needs time to forgive, time to heal alone, to come to terms with himself. Harry gets it. They're the same in so many ways, so maybe Zayn knew Harry needed this too. Harry smiles at that, at the thought of Zayn knowing him better than he knows himself.

Harry reminds himself, of all the stupid shit he said to Liam that night on the deck, he did say a few things he'll never let himself forget, on the nights he misses Zayn the most. _We love each other. You don't put down the person you love, you don't fuck them over, fuck with them at all. You don't make them feel bad, you don't forget their birthday, you forgive them for lying about stupid shit, shit that doesn't even matter in the long run._

He also reminds himself that he's not a glacier, not really.

He burns too bright to be a glacier. He burns. They both do. They burn together. So Harry knows, they'll find each other. Eventually.

  
  
***

  
Harry did wait for Zayn, just like he promised himself he would. He promised himself he'd wait for a fucking lifetime, if he had to.  
   
Zayn made him wait exactly two weeks and four days, before he shows up at his family's front door in Santa Monica, shrugging his shoulders.  
  
Harry, quite literally, pounces on him.

 

  


	7. Epilogue

As it turns out, Zayn is a lot like Harry in that sometimes when he says something to a person, he's really talking to himself. And when he told Harry he only wanted to beat Liam, Zayn realized that's exactly why he lied in the first place, on that very first goddamn day in the bookstore. It all started with a lie, with wanting to beat Liam, so he can hardly hold that against Harry, when he himself wanted to shove it in Liam's face. He knew Liam, had loved Liam for years, and he knew Liam had a lot of regrets, regrets he tried to take out on Zayn, even now.

Zayn doesn't want to regret anything.  
  
That's one of the first things Zayn says into Harry's shoulder, when Harry jumps on him and almost knocks them both to the ground. He also tells Harry he wanted to beat Liam too, but he doesn't anymore. He doesn't want to beat Liam, or show Harry's mom a damn thing, or prove to the world that he's fine. Because the truth is, he's not fine when he's not around Harry, so. There you have it.  
  
If they differ at all, it's in that Harry can wait for something, can wait a lifetime if he has to, whereas Zayn is too impatient.  
  
He tried to stay away, to be alone like he knew he should be. He tried to leave it, to do what he told Harry they were going to do, which is be apart and separate for a while. He knows they should. He tried to be angry, to be so angry, to punish Harry with time, make him wait.  
  
So it was ironic, that the one thing that finally made it click in his head, how fucking stupid he was for making them stay away, was whiskey.  
  
Zayn was at a bar two weeks and three days after the final talk with Harry, after they cried in his kitchen and laid it all out like a poker game, with a group of people from school. They were drinking and having fun, celebrating the summer. Zayn felt light, happy, like he was finally doing what he needed, finally moving on, when someone offered to buy him a drink. He politely said thank you, he'd love one, until Megan came back and handed him a shot of whiskey.  
  
He stares at the shot, before looking up to her giddy face.  
  
"Oh, no thanks. I don't drink whiskey," he says, polite as ever, setting it on the bar.  
  
"Oh, okay. No worries. Why no whiskey?"  
  
Zayn briefly thinks that maybe he should just keep it to himself, keep shit close like he normally does, when he remembers he decided to tell the truth about the little stuff from now on, the stuff that shouldn't matter to share. He keeps having to remind himself, is the thing, he keeps forgetting to do it.  
  
"I don't drink whiskey. My grandpa used to drink it and he always became a dick whenever he did, so," he says, nodding, drinking the beer she hands him instead.  
  
"That sucks. Mean old people are the worst, right?" she laughs. "My grandma used to be such a bitch to my mom, I never understood it. I didn't get it. But then my mom told me her mom had a lot of regrets, had a hard life. So she cuts her a break, I guess."  
  
Zayn stares at her.  
  
"So like, maybe your grandpa just regretted a lot of shit, and it made him angry, you know?"  
  
Zayn stares at her some more, in disbelief that this near stranger explained something so intimate to him, something he never even thought about or considered, in a bar, of all places.  
  
It all sort of clicked then.  
  
Maybe his grandpa did have regrets. Maybe he regretted so much shit, for so long, it eventually ate away at him and the only release he had was to drink whiskey, bottle after bottle, until it all just exploded out of him, to those around him, like a bomb. He made everyone around him feel like shit, the angrier he got, the more whiskey he drank from his stupid fucking flask. Maybe his grandpa was just a dick, he can't say for sure… but if he did have regrets, like Megan's grandma, maybe he didn't know what else to do. Maybe that's why Harry took pills sometimes, or drank himself stupid, because he was sad, or regretted things. Maybe it was all he could do when it got too heavy.  
  
So that's what made Zayn go home that night, what made him lay in his bed and think about Harry, about his life, about what they were. He didn't want to have any regrets, didn't want to let Harry go, not like that. He didn't want Harry to regret anything either, to regret him.  
  
Harry fucking loved him. He loved Harry. They both said it, they were honest. So what the hell were they doing? He didn't want one of the last things he said to Harry, at least for a while, to be that Harry is selfish and forgets to see people.  
  
So the next morning he gets in his car and drives to Santa Monica.  
  
Because you don't put down the person you love, don't fuck them over, fuck with them at all. You don't make them feel bad, or send them away out of anger, you forgive them for lying about stupid shit, shit that doesn't matter in the long run.  
  
When he hugs Harry close, when he whispers in his ear that he loves him, that he loves them, who they are together, it's with a smile on his face. They're a couple of liars, sure, but they're not broken. They can fix all of it.  
  
Harry pulls back to look at him, smiling.   
  
"I missed you," he says, crying, his face blotchy, but bright.  
  
"I missed you the whole fucking time," Zayn says, running his thumb across Harry's cheek.  
  
"I did everything you said, I promise. No Michael, no pills, nothing. I'm sorry for being a bad person, for hurting you. But I'm done, I swear."  
  
"I know, Hazza. I know. And no Liam either, swear," he whispers, holding Harry closer.  
  
"Fuck that guy," Harry says in a laugh, choking on air, still trying to collect himself.  
  
"Yeah, fuck that guy," Zayn pulls him in again, hugging him, smoothing his hair.  
  
Zayn smiles. They win, they win all of it. Because even though it's not a competition, if anyone was going to win, it was going to be them.

  
  
***

  
So that's how the lie ends, that's how they come to be HarryAndZayn.  
  
Sometimes people lie to forget the past, and some lie to forget the present. You can't judge them because eventually the liar, the one who lied to get through the day, he finds another dumb liar to call him on his shit, and they figure it out together. And eventually they don't lie at all, because they don't have to, not anymore.  
  
When something begins with a lie, when the very foundation of what something is turns out to be a lie, it's fractured before it even begins. That doesn't mean it's broken, or irreparable. It doesn't even mean it won't be beautiful. It's not whole until you address it, like Harry and Zayn finally did, in Zayn's kitchen over two shitty cups of coffee.  
  
They started with a lie.  
  
But they eventually told the truth. They told every truth, every secret, they ever had.

If you fix the cracks, fill in the holes, it can be beautiful. You fill the holes with real stories, real experiences, real nights where you make each other laugh.  
  
Harry doesn't drink whiskey ever again. Zayn bans fajitas from any and all family gatherings. They're both messy, so their apartment is a fucking joke until they finally hire a cleaning service to come once a week. They don't tell either of their families the true extent of their lies, instead choosing to build upon the truths, to let them see where they're headed, not where they came from.  
  
They jokingly celebrate both anniversaries, the day they met in the bookstore and "began dating," and their real anniversary, the day they almost fell over on Harry's door step.  
  
Zayn talks to Anne every time she calls. Harry meets every member of Zayn's extended family, loves each of them, and eats every chicken dish Trisha ever makes. They sleep late. They take long showers together. Harry doesn't ache when he's in the same room as Zayn anymore. They don't ache at all.  
  
They started with a lie, but they figured it out.  
  
They finally paid attention.  
  
Hopefully you did, too.  
 

 

 

 THE END

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed it! And to anyone who's read my other fics and are sticking with me, I love you a whole bunch.
> 
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> 
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